And We All Fall Down
by shadowed warrior
Summary: Ten years ago Voldemort was defeated, the Death Eaters scattered, and the Order and the Aurors declared the victory. But in the aftermath of war what happens when the victors inherit the wizarding world? Don't they remember "power corrupts"?
1. Chapter 1 Brave New World?

Summary: Ten years post final battle. Somewhat AU, not DH compliant, ignores some character death, and adds others. Some OOC Draco and Hermoine, but not really since it's AU. Some violence, Lemons in later chapters, hence the rating.

Ten years ago Voldemort was defeated, the Death Eaters scattered, and the Order and the Aurors declared the victory. But in the aftermath of war what happens when the victors inherit the wizarding world? Didn't they listen when everyone said "power corrupts"?

Disclaimer:I don't own Harrry Potter, I'm just glad JK lets me take her characters for an adventure here and there.

It was the first time she had seen him in daylight. He had changed, that was the first thing she thought. He didn't just look older, they were all older, the last of their innocence long gone in a bloody war against the most vicious mad wizard to have ever lived. Did he get some of the worst of it? She thought likely yes, after all, she had a better knowledge than most.

His hair was still brilliant, silky blonde, his features perfectly sculpted as though from the finest alabaster, his body chisled and hard with more muscle than he had had the last time any of them had seem him at the trials after the war was finally won. He was a man now, not a stripling boy with something to prove. His left arm was ablaze with intricate emerald, black and silver tattoo work, all the way from the back of his knuckles to his shoulder. She knew with absolute certainty that it had been done to attempt to disguise the serpent and skull dark mark that was burned into his flesh. She saw the tips of the winged dragon tattoo that marked the inner circle of Voldemorts Death Eaters peeking out of the edges of his sleeveless t-shit and nearly laughed. No way to cover that, disguise it, or change it, it simply was.

She would know.

She had tried everything from spells to Muggle dermabrasion to rid herself of the marks, but nothing worked. Even in death the dark lord still had the last laugh in some respects.

He half turned, and she saw the long, thin scar that drew a line from his forehead to the corner of his eye, all way down his jaw. She'd done it with a blade infused with dark magic because Voldemort said he was too pretty. Nothing in the world would heal that scar now. There were more, she knew, and far more vicious, she'd watched many of them being inflicted and had been forced to carve more than one into his perfect flesh herself to keep up the pretense of loyalty that was all that stood between her and certain death. He'd never made a sound. No matter how severe or sadistic the torture, no matter the duration he had borne every second with bitter fury, a hatred so deep that she thought sometimes it frightened even the Dark Lord himself that he couldn't break him.

Draco Malfoy had never been a stranger to pain, he had his father to thank for that, and hundreds of generations of pureblood Malfoy stubbornness to maintain his resolve. In the end even the avada wasn't enough to kill him.

The trials had been a joke, there was still enough corruption and fear even in the Wizengamot to assure that, and even though they proved he had never become a true Death Eater, that he had worked with the Order all along to bring down Voldemort, family prejudices will out and he was sentenced to ten years with no magic use. If he could do that, all would be, if not forgiven, at least accepted.

He had watched impassively as his mother and father had both been given the Kiss, screaming imprecations at him and the rest of the Order with their final coherent breaths. Only she had noticed the muscle jumping convulsively in his jaw, the minute shudders that coursed over his body, and the seen the unnatural brightness in his eyes. No matter what they had done to him, and to countless others they were the only family he had ever had.

After it was all said and done and the Death Eaters were defeated, Kingsley Shackelbolt was made Minister of Magic, Minerva McGonagall the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter and Ron Weasley had joined the Aurors. She would have thought they were tired of fighting, she surely was, but then, they hadn't really seen the worst.

She thought that in the end Severus and Remus, Tonks and Fred and Arthur and the rest who were lost had been the lucky ones. They were out of it, no more pain, no memories, no having to go on making the pretense of living a normal life.

She had been hailed along with the heroes at first until the Daily Prophet had begun to get the details of what she and the other spies had had to do to stay alive in Voldemorts camp. Thank God Severus was dead, they would have crucified him, she though sadly. He had been one of the best and bravest men she had ever known. They had found one another in that hell of a world and taken moments of brilliance. She envied him the escape, and hoped that her love had at least helped to heal some of the scars on his heart. But that was a long time ago, and the pain had long since faded to a bittersweet ache belonging to a person who no longer really existed.

After the stories were released, the headlines of "Voldemorts Whore" and "Death Eater Head Girl?" shouting from every newsstand, the tide of public opinion had begun to turn. Her refusal to go public with a disclaimer didn't help her cause and soon she found herself nearly the pariah that the families of the former Death Eaters were, but even in that group she didn't belong, not with pureblood witches and warlocks, oh no. The pressure from the ministry had gotten to everyone, soon she didn't see Harry or Ron very much, Ginny didn't call. Luna attempted to keep her connected, sweet, non judgemental Luna whose loyalty and trust had not faded or flagged even once during the entire mess, but Hermoine couldn't bring her down with her, and she was too smart to ignore how things were going.

There were no job offers following school for her save one to teach at Durmstrang that she couldn't bring herself to even reply to. Her attempt at opening a bookshop failed miserably as every witch and warlock on Diagon Alley refused to enter her premises. In the end she did the only thing she knew how, she fought again. She collected bounties on werewolves, vampires, and murders. In between she went back to the Muggle world to lick her wounds and forget. And that was where she found him.

Draco had possibly been even better at falling off the map than she had been. His families wealth gave him every means needed to disappear, and he had done so, fading off the notice of the wizarding world so quietly that she thought perhaps she was almost the only one who noticed.

She tried to do the same.

Then the Ministry passed the marriage laws, and now there wasn't a choice. No more hunting murderers in the night, she had been assigned to Goyle as a wife, mudbloods to purebloods, all chosen by the ministry if you didn't cooperate. This time she ran from them. And now that they'd taken even that from her, it was time to start taking things back.

She had something that belonged to him now, though, something she thought he might want back, and she thought that she might barter it for his help. But that was wrong, too. And if she had to do this again, it was time to remember all the way, the priciples, maybe even morals. But she was at a loss as to how to approach him. Fighting on the same side of a war didn't necessarily make people trust one another.


	2. Chapter 2 For Old Times Sake

"Well Granger, are you going to stand there all day boring holes in my back with your eyes or are you going to say something?" She jumped as if struck. He had been facing away from her, how could he….

"It's your shampoo. All these years and you still smell like apples."

"Do not use Legilimency on me, Malfoy," she ground, but it hadn't felt like a spell, there had been no sense of him near her mind. Her theory was confirmed when he laughed.

"So, you do still speak. I was beginning to wonder. I don't need magic to know when you're around, I never did. Besides, my sentence is up at midnight. I assume that's why you're here, isn't it? Are you an Auror now, Granger, coming to tell me I'm free, but not to step a foot out of line? Or did you just want to see how the mighty have fallen."

She laughed aloud, and the bitterness of it made him turn finally, putting down the tool he had been working with fastidiously in place with a neat line of others. He looked curiously at her then, truly looked, and his brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"You've changed, Granger. That holier than thou look isn't in your eyes anymore. Can it be you've learned that your damned Gryffindor nobility isn't the balm you thought it would be? I'll admit you do look good this way, but then, you always did." She had braced for the expected insults but his quiet observation took her by surprise.

"I'm surprised you would have ever noticed, Malfoy. How could you deign to look at a filthy Mudblood other than to ridicule?" There was a flash of something in his steel colored eyes, something that was both frightening and alluring. Gods, she should never have come. Even in his youth Draco Malfoy had been a force to be reckoned with, now as an older, and much more experienced man he exuded a quiet sense of danger that put her back up like a nervous cat.

"Those were my fathers words, Granger, I don't use then anymore, I haven't for a long time. Why are you here?"

"I wanted to give you something. I didn't think the Ministry would be, hmm, willing to relinquish it without an argument so I decided to procure it. Happy Release."

She heard his breath suck in as she handed him the slim black wand, and like the first time he held it she saw a luminous silver blue light shine briefly from his skin. The aura was the color only the most powerful wizards ever produced.

"How did you get it?" She shrugged.

"It wasn't that difficult, trust me. Good luck, Malfoy. We all deserve at least a bit of that." He caught her hand as she went to turn away, and she saw something slip behind his guarded expression.

"Wait. Have a drink with me, for old times sake. I know we were never friends, but Gods, it's been years since I've spoken to anyone from the wizarding world. It's…"

"Wearing?" she supplied. He nodded.

"Let me just close up the shop, and there's a pub not a block from here. I take most of my meals there nowadays, it's simpler."

_Merlins beard, of all the complications in life these days this one I hadn't forseen. She'd been watching me for days, the purchased wards and protections I wasn't allowed to cast myself had given me the alarm as soon as she arrived. And yes, I had smelled her shampoo, that alone would have told me a thousand times that it was her. Now she's walking beside me as if nothing ever happened all those years ago, that we didn't go through hell and back to save a world that I am now not so convinced really should have been saved. What the hell was I thinking, asking her for a drink as if we're simply old acquaintances? But what else are we, really? _

They found a booth in the back and ordered pints. Hermoine felt oddly surreal looking at him, sitting there in muggle clothes, with a muggle beverage in his hand, so obviously comfortable in this setting that once he would have been appalled to even think he could be caught in. His wand sat on the table between them and he seemed almost reluctant to touch it, and his expression was completely unreadable.

"I need to know how you got it." he finally said, his voice quiet. "You and I both know Kingsley Shackelbolt had no intention of giving that back to me, ten years or no. I'm quite sure he was hoping that by now someone would have been accommodating enough to kill me."

"I daresay that's true. I broke into Kingsley's office and stole it. What's he going to say, that the wand that he was supposed to have given back to you and didn't was stolen?" Despite his increasingly dark mood Malfoy couldn't restrain a chuckle. She cocked her head to the side curiously, the corners of her mouth tilting up slightly.

"What?" She shook her head.

"I think that might be the first time I've ever seen you really smile. It looks good on you."

Don't let that get back to the wizarding world, will you? Malfoys don't smile, at least not where anyone can see it. We smirk, we sneer, and sometimes we even snarl, but never smile. We're terrifying, aristocratic, purebloods, you know."

"Well, you don't smile for good reasons at least," she grimaced. "But I notice it didn't strain you so much to do it. Has living in the muggle world corrupted you, Malfoy?"

"My parents would certainly think so, as would most of their friends. Maybe they're right, Merlin knows I haven't thought of any of these people as worthless muggles for a very long time. Well, not most of them, at any rate. I certainly don't see what benefit our supposedly 'pure' blood has done for my family."

"It's probably a good thing you think that way, because if you intend on coming back you're in for quite an adjustment."

"Ah yes, saint Potter saved the world with the weasel, the mini weasel and the snotty know it all at his side and now the purebloods are reduced to living like common folk, with the gods in their heaven and all right with the world, right? That's how the papers were playing it when I was sentenced. To hell with Serverus, and me, and let's be sure not to mention that Dumbledore allowed a severteen year old muggleborn witch into that den of vipers…" he cut himself off, gripping his mug tightly, nostrils flaring. Gods, Hermoine thought, he really was rather magnificent in a rage. How the hell had he gone form the sneaky ferret of SLytherin to this blond avenging archangel? Well, maybe archangel was putting it a little thick, nephilim might be the better description for a reformed Malfoy, handsome as sin and still the son of the devil himself. But as usual, she had issue with what came out of his mouth.

"Are you out of your tiny mind? Draco Malfoy, have you completely cut yourself off from the world? Do you really know nothing of what has been going on for the past ten years?" He looked a bit taken aback by her vehemence and scowled.

"I read the Prophet for a time when I was first sentenced, and I kept in touch with a few people, but you know as well as I that the Order never really liked me, they simply saw me as a useful tool, and the Death Eaters would have liked nothing more than to string my corpse from the highest window in my own manor.

"I found that there was not very much left for me in the world after the war, so I went to find a new world that wouldn't constantly remind me that I couldn't use my magic, someplace where effectively being reduced to a squib wouldn't matter a damn. I had to start over, woman, I had nothing left to build from."

"I…I'm sorry," she said quietly, wincing at the expression on his face; and looking into her caramel eyes he could see she truly meant it. "Lashing out has become the norm for me, I suppose. I never thought of how it must have been for you. Everything happened so fast, and then we were all being treated like heroes and Harry and Ron and the rest wanted to move on, and it was like we never lost anyone, like it didn't matter as long as we beat Voldemort, and believe me, I wanted him to die, I wanted him to die slowly and painfully for what he did, and I was caught up in it for a time, too. By the time I realized what was happening it was too late." Draco frowned as her tone turned tense.

"Too late for what?" She sighed.

"The war was too frightening, the fact that the Dark Lord was able to survive for so long terrified people in a way that an ordinary monster never would. When people become frightened they make bad choices. There was a tremendous outcropping of hostility to pureblood families, even those who had never been Death Eaters, and there was a vendetta so paranoid against Death Eaters that everyone lived in terror of being arrested. The Ministry saw the civil unrest begin to grow and authorized bounties on the heads of werewolves, vampires and death eaters. That worked for a while, but people never seem to get enough reassurance, and when the paranoia started again they formed the Marriage Laws to stop it. Well, that or to take everyone's mind off their other problems."

"Marriage Laws? What…" she held up a hand.

"Now when a person reaches the age of twenty if they are not already married they are required to do so. Moreover, two purebloods can no longer marry, only pureblood with muggleborn. If you don't chose a spouse, well, the Ministry steps in and does it for you."

"And who did you chose, Granger?" he asked, a muscle suddenly jumping in his jaw, his eyes going from warm grey to cold steel in a second. "Saint Potter himself? Or maybe the Weasel?" She snorted.

"Not bloody likely. Harry and Ron had stopped speaking to me by then. They couldn't be associated with a former Death Eater, you know, no matter the reason I took the mark. They were very reasonable about it, explained that while they personally could vouch for me it just cast a distasteful aura on the Order itself. The Ministry informed me that because of my service to the Order they wouldn't arrest me, but let's just say life became, unpleasant. There were no jobs for me with the decent wizards and the death eaters obviously hated me. I started to hunt bounties, it was the only way to make enough galleons to get by. Then I got my owl informing me that I was to be paired off with Goyle. I left the next day."

"Christ Granger, you're a bloody war hero! That Mark is a battle scar. They should have been throwing roses at your feet! How the bloody hell…"

"How is your case any different? Who really knew, Draco? Who? You knew, and Severus, and Dumbledore, the rest of the Order was told we were doing something important but not what; are you surprised that they didn't really back us up once they saw what we had done? What we had to do to maintain the illusion? Severus was cleared, posthumously, for Dumbledore's murder, Minerva saw to that, though even that was difficult. Thank Merlin Severus didn't live to see what became of all our sacrifice."

"Obviously things have gone to hell in the proverbial hand basket, but you still haven't answered my original question. I hate to sound like I'm looking a gift horse in the mouth, Granger, but it's not as if I can picture you stealing my wand out of Shackelbolts office and then tracking me down to give it back just out of a sense of fair play. Care to tell me what's really going on here?"

She flushed and dropped her eyes, and he nodded slowly. There was always an angle, that was one thing that never changed, be it the muggle or the wizard world. He felt his lip curl in a start to the trademark Malfoy sneer and consciously forced his face back into calm lines. Whatever had made her come seeking him out must be quite desperate and probably illegal. Now what the hell?

"Spit it out, woman, don't make me have to use legilimency to get it out of you." She actually hissed at him, and he raised an eyebrow.

"Try it and see what happens. Do you really think you could penetrate my mind considering my background? I lived and breathed Occlumency for years against Voldemort and was never caught, and I should feel threatened by a wizard who hasn't held a wand in a decade?" His eyes narrowed. Gods, how was it that this witch always managed to piss him off?

"Shut it, Granger. I may be out of practice but let's not forget who it was that had to play the part of Riddle's head inquisitor. If you recall there was far more to my job then shouting "crucio" whenever the Dark Lord wanted some entertainment." She paled, then two hot spots of color hit her cheeks remembering all the times Voldemort had decided that Draco would be the recipient of that particular curse, with her as the vessel to administer the punishment since it amused him to have a mudblood as a Death Eater to rub in the nose of the pureblood maniacs like the Malfoys.

"Draco, I," he waved away her words with his tattooed hand.

"Save it woman, I know, you didn't want to do it, it was part of the spy game we played, etc etc. And that's even the truth, so far as it goes. You apologized long ago. Just tell me what you want, what got you out here to use my wand as a bribe for me to help you." At that her eyes grew wide.

"Help me? I don't need your help, Draco, I'm doing just bloody fine on my own. I want the Ministry cleaned out, the whole bloody lot of them. The whole thing needs a good cleaning and an attitude adjustment. You might be the only one who could even make a start at doing that. I wanted to ask you to use your influence and your money to try to fix the mess that the politicians have made now that you'll go back to take your place in society."


	3. Chapter 3 What's Your Angle?

"My place in society." He rolled the words around his mouth, then rubbed his hands over his face and chuckled. "I'll give it to you, when you call in a favor, you certainly call it in. Hermoine," his use of her given name, as well as the gentle tone, startled her. "I'm just as much a pariah as any other Death Eater. Yes, I have money, a lot of money, and a lot of connections still exist from my fathers days, but to bring down the Ministry of Magic? I don't see it being possible. There is no place in society for me anymore."

"Trust me, you'll be accepted," she said darkly. "You have the money, the power, an old old name, and I'm betting your father trained you from the moment you could talk to be the consummate politician. You'll have charmed your way back into everyone's good graces in a year."

"I never said I was going back." She gaped.

"What? You can't be serious! Slytherin Prince Draco Malfoy not return to the wizarding world once his sentence was up? Impossible." He slammed his hand down on the table.

"Gods, this is ridiculous! I hated that damned title from the moment that bitch reporter thought it up. Prince my arse, there is not one person, not one, who ever considered me that except my damned father and mother."

"So you're willing to just let them win? Let them ruin everything?"

"And isn't that exactly what you're doing?" he demanded. She flinched.

"I don't have a choice, now do I? I don't have the power and the influence you do. I can't even get a bloody job washing dishes there. Trust me, if I could I'd Avada the whole bloody lot of them and let the whole mess straighten itself out."

"Let it go, Granger. You never liked the killing in the first place, don't try to make me think you'd go through with that plan. I might, but not you."

"All these years and you still think you have the monopoly on evil. I find it ironic in the extreme that with that attitude you consider me the naïve one of us. Besides, I can't give up the magic, Draco. I tried. I got a real job, I lived as a muggle again, but I couldn't keep it up. I couldn't stop using spells, brewing potions. It hurt. I don't know how you survived." He placed a bill on the table and pulled her up, leading her out of the pub, and up a set of stairs at the side of the building. At first Hermoine didn't realize where they were going until he unlocked a door at the top of the stairs and led her into a flat that covered the entire floor of the building.

It was tastefully decorated in modern, but luxurious furnishings with exquisite artwork scattered about, highlighted by spotlights coming from the fifteen foot ceilings. It was a loft style, the suggestion of rooms showed by the placement of furniture, even though there were no real walls. But the centerpiece of the space had to be the huge grand piano in it's own corner of the space, its ebony wood gleaming with care in the soft light.

"I didn't want to continue this conversation where anyone who cared to could overhear," he said simply, walking to the kitchen and setting the kettle going. "Look on the table, tell me what you see." Curious, she walked over. There was nothing on the table except a small bowl with several brightly colored plastic chips in it. She ran her fingers through them, seeing each had a number on it.

"Do you know what those are?" he asked, finally bringing a cup of tea over to her, dropping a bare spoonful of honey in and stirring it around before handing it to her. She took a sip, then raised her eyes to his.

"You remember how I take my tea?" He shrugged.

"It's a habit. These are Addicts Anonymous chips. Each one is for a milestone moment of sobriety, or in my case, of not using magic." She looked over the chips with more than a little surprise.

"Tell me, please. I," she shook her head ruefully. "You, out of all of us, seem to have been the one who has found his peace, at least a little. I have to admit I find it more than a little ironic. You were the one who would never accept help, or friendship, companionship, even though we were in the inner circle together you seemed apart, intentionally, from the rest of us. How, Draco, how did you, of all people, learn to live again?" He smiled, and picked up a chip with a 1 on it.

"One day at a time. Just like it says on the posters. "We admit we were powerless over our addiction – that our lives had become unmanageable." He dropped the chip and picked up another that had a 30 on it. "We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity." He dropped 30 and picked up one that said '6 months'. "We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of the Gods _as we _

_understood them." _Hermoine felt her eyesmoisten as he recited the words that were so obviously a carefully memorized litany. The he reached into a drawer and tossed a device onto the table. Even from across the tabletop she could feel the malevolence in it, and shied away from touching the thing. He laughed. "And the funny thing is, justice was what truly made me a master of Dark objects. The therapy helped, but there is nothing that can remove the burn of the magic, except by removing the magic itself before it starts to escape in your sleep. But that, it rips the magic from your blood, stores it in phials. It makes the burn tolerable again. It saved my life even though it tries to take it every time." He reached over and pressed two fingers to her head, and whispered "_legilimens_". And she gasped.

_The taste of whiskey and cigarettes was stale in my mouth and I couldn't remember the last time I had seen the out of doors. I hadn't the energy to move or bathe and I couldn't even use a simple _scourgify _to rid myself of my own stink. I was wallowing, in hate, in bitterness, and most of all in self pity. I had become the one thing I had always sworn I wouldn't be. I was weak, and I had no idea how to stop it. _

…_._

_The television was on. It was the one Muggle contraption I had learned to use and enjoy in this hell of a world I was stuck in. It was instructive, I could behave like the pictures in the box and I could manage. I could pretend I knew the rules of this place. Who was I kidding? I was as lost as it was possible to be. And it was a commercial that saved me. An advertisement for a program about a character who couldn't live without alcohol. I looked at the bottle beside me and laughed. I could live without the whiskey, without the cigarettes, they were just what replaced everything else I lost. It was the magic that was killing me, the feel of it in my blood every day, seeking a way out, screaming for me to cast any kind of spell, even a damned Patronus, just to relieve the pressure. I knew what addiction was all right, and I knew it would never get better. But I damn sure didn't want to become a slave to it either. I had survived my childhood with a father who thought an unforgiveable curse was a normal type of discipline. I survived Voldemort, I survived watching most of the people I thought I should care about die, and now I was going to lose my life and even my soul to something that didn't even think. No. I pulled myself out of the chair and into the shower. The address was in the directory, and I knew how to use a cab. I was drunk, was I ever __**not**__ drunk in those days, but I managed to get into a seat, and when it started I stood up and I said the hardest words I've said in my life. 'My name is Draco Malfoy, and I'm an addict'. For only the second time in my life, I confessed something important. And no one laughed._

_My sponsor didn't know what to make of withdrawl symptoms like mine, they never got better, only worse. No one knew how to deal with a pureblood wizard who physically needs to perform magic to dissipate its concentration in the blood. But the squib who ran the bike shop knew, and he went to Knockturn Alley. _

_The howling, stabbing, sucking agony of the device became like a catharsis, I almost looked forward to the simple agony; it was so much easier than the constant shuddering need to perform magic that I welcomed it every month like a lover. And yet I kept going to the meetings, the litany helped make sense of the senseless, and better, reminded me that, for once, I was not alone. _

Hermoine returned to her own mind in the chair with her face wet with tears. Draco sat across from her, his face calm.

"I learned there that muggles were simply people, the having or not having of magic was simply an accident of birth. I learned that kindness and acceptance was something much more common in the world than I had ever thought. I learned that what had gone wrong in my life was due in great part to the fact that I had only sent evil out. How could I then expect good to come back? There are ten chips here, one for each year that I served my sentence. And I served it by my honor, not by having my power stripped from me. I think that's why they left it to me, in the hopes that I'd fail and they would have the excuse to perform the Kiss on me too, rid the world of troublesome Malfoys permanently. At first I did it with the simple intention of surviving to see every one of them who did that to me burn. I wanted to come back and wreak havoc on them, watch them die one by one. But hate could only take me so far. I had to let it go before it weakened me to the point that I failed. I never fail, Granger. So, thank you for bringing my wand back to me, but don't ask me to join this crusade. I'm tired, and I'm not doing it all again."

"I understand," she said quietly, standing. "I'll leave you to your life then, and I really do hope it brings you contentment." There was a crack and she apparated out of his flat. The first thing Draco did when she left was to put up security wards. If she could get out, others could get in, and he knew somehow that it was unlikely that now she had been there that this would be the end of it.


	4. Chapter 4 Damned Conscience

After a week she was still in his mind. He resubscribed to the Daily Prophet, then had his secretary research and send him the relevant clips from the last decade so he could get an idea of precisely what the political situation was without it being clouded by Grangers always activist perspective.

He sat in his apartment with a full four fingers of firewhiskey in a tumbler on the table beside him, and an admittedly weird mix of classical, rock, blues and even show tunes shuffling on the mp3 player connected to his high end stereo system. The clippings were arranged perfectly in chronological order by subject, and the tale they told became obvious before he had flipped through more than two years of them.

After the war was won and the heroes were lauded, the government stepped in. Kingsley Shackelbolt was elected Minister of magic in what Draco perceived was mostly a knee jerk reaction to Fudge's myopic weakness. A former Auror, and always one of the most paranoid reactionaries in his group, Shackelbolt won on a platform of tracking down every single Death Eater and eradicating them from the face of the planet. He was better than his word. His squads arrested everyone who even smelled remotely of dark magic, and the rumors of illegal interrogations and torture to get more names began to spread. Legilimency and Veritaserum felt by the wayside in favor of the Cruciatus, the use of which was legalized for Aurors in pursuit of criminals. Having been the recipient of that particular curse many times over the course of his life, he felt a particular revulsion to the notion that it was remotely considered acceptable to legalize any unforgiveable, much less that one.

The trend was all downhill from there. Seeing what a whirlwind their fear had reaped, the citizens became nearly as afraid of the Aurors as they had been of the Death Eaters. Public opinion fell to an all time low, there was talk of a vote of no confidence. The problem was, of course, that no one, having tasted power, ever wanted to give it up. Even with Potters increasingly vehement and public support, Kingsley couldn't stave off the inevitable for long. There had to be something to refocus the population from their course so he would have time to solidify his power base.

He found it in the Marriage Laws. Ostensibly passed to put down the hatred between Purebloods and the rest of wizarding society, Draco saw that it was a master stroke by the Ministry, distracting the people from the real issues, and refocusing on the Pureblood, Mudblood controversy instead of the way politics was going to hell. Shackelbolt and his goon squads were forgotten in the renewed hatred that forced marriages between people barely considered adult was causing.

Spouse murder skyrocketed, abuse ran rampant. People were sent to Azkaban right and left for assault, murder and and attempted murder. If it got much worse Draco thought it likely that Shackelbolt would declare a state of emergency and declare the Ministry under control of the Auror Guild. And that, he thought sourly, was exactly the point.

It wasn't as bad as she had said it was, it was far worse. Damn the woman to hell twice for her interference in his placid, organized and structured world. He was _caring_ again, caring beyond what effected him, it was appalling, it was disgusting. He hadn't felt so alive in years.

He picked up the yearly reports from Malfoy Wizarding Industries, flipping through them. The board had done well with little interference over the years, keeping on with his fathers policy of expanding the family concerns so there were few large organizations, and fewer influential people that a Malfoy who was sufficiently motivated could not touch. For the first time in a long time Draco felt the corner of his mouth turn up in the trademark Malfoy sneer and he wasn't ashamed. It had been a long time since he had used the influence he had. He'd told himself that he didn't need that sort of game, that he could get what he wanted by old fashioned negotiation, and in this world he could. But the truth was, he was a Slytherin and a Malfoy, and while he was possibly the most gentle of his generation, and the most principled in several, there was something deep and visceral that called to him to do _something_. He wasn't quite sure what, at least not yet, but his mind felt like it was waking up after a decade of sleep, and he had to physically fight off the urge to wake up his staff and make them work right along with him. Unable to shed the excess energy he took the reports and set them on the treadmill in the corner and prepared to read and run at the same time.

He didn't stop until he was covered in sweat, so tired he could barely breathe, and the sun was peaking over the horizon.


	5. Chapter 5 Into the Crucible

The wards went off with a vengeance and Draco jerked out of a sound sleep, wand in hand, just as the door blew inward in splinters, and a familiar form stumbled in, covered in what looked like blood , wand in a trembling hand. Years of spy habits and Death Eater training kicked in as if no time had passed, and he was out of bed, yanking her behind him in a flash, a shield charm going up just in time to deflect the blast of green of a killing curse. Shouting in fury, he cast a countercurse that slammed the opponent into the wall with a crunch, bones breaking audibly.

"Are there more?" he demanded harshly, casting a scrying spell, not finding any signs. Hermoine shook her head, slowly sliding down the length of his body, a streak of red marring his pale skin until she collapsed on the floor. He turned, seeing a pool of red slowly spread from underneath her, and apparated, stark naked.

Hermoine woke. She hadn't been expecting to do that, not once her personal wards had gone off and she had seen them behind her. Werewolves. Werewolves in the employ of Kingsley and his goon squads, she doubted not. And now she'd led them to him, too. Dammit. Hot tears of guilt squeezed between her lashes.

"Hermoine, love does it hurt?" She pried her eyes open, and slowly Draco's face swam into focus. She tried to speak, nothing came out. She swallowed a few times, tried again and this time managed a whisper.

"Why are you naked?" He looked down, and then started to laugh. She looked him over unashamedly as he quickly cast a cleaning spell that scoured her blood from his skin, and, pulling a spare blanket from under the bed, transfigured it into jeans and a t-shirt.

"Why are you more concerned with my state of undress than you are with the fact that you nearly died?" She forced a small smile.

"I've been nearly dead many times, but not once have I ever seen Draco Malfoy in the altogether."

"And?" as soon as the word left his mouth he wanted to call it back. Of all the juvenile, callow ridiculous things he could have said, that one came near to the top of the list. So he did the only thing he could, he gave her the patented Malfoy smirk.

"As if you don't already know," She shrugged. "Malfoys have a well deserved reputation for being almost too beautiful." He snorted., but she saw something resembling relief in his eyes. Did he care what she thought? Of course he did, she realized. Changed man or not Draco Malfoy had serious issues with having to be perfect, lucky for him, physically at least he pretty much was. Every lanky inch of him was carved out of solid muscle, taut and toned but without the ridiculous bulk of a professional body builder. Broad shoulders tapered to a slim waist and hips, and legs sinfully long. And speaking of sinfully long, she squeezed her eyes shut, and pretended she wasn't blushing. He cupped her cheek in his hand, and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, surprising her into opening her eyes.

"Too warm?" She realized what he was saying with a start and flushed. He chuckled richly and she glared.

"Shut it, Malfoy, it's not funny." He sobered.

"No, it's not. It especially wasn't amusing to see you staggering into my flat with a homicidal werewolf on your heels, half dead, and bleeding buckets on my floors. Christ Granger, I thought you were going to die before I could even apparate us here and get a blood replenishing potion into you. How the hell did you get werewolves after you?"

"Bounty. I was hunting Fenrir Greyback. He was not alone. Three or four I could have handled. He had twelve. Where are we?"

"Malfoy Wizarding Industries muggle headquarters, London. I have a fully equipped healer suite here as well as a private clinic. You must have gotten sideswiped by an exsanguination hex, but it's not one I'm familiar with. It took two blood replenishing potions and two pints of pure platelets to stop the bleeding and restore the clotting ability. I  
f you hadn't gotten to me when you did we wouldn't be talking right now. "

"I didn't mean to drag you into this, Draco. When I got hit by the curse I blind apparated, didn't have a clue where I would end up. I didn't even realize it was your home until I felt the wards."

"Gods, Hermoine, you blasted through every one of them like it was butter. How did you do that?" She shrugged, and slowly sat up, shocked that she was starting to fell almost normal.

"I'm not sure, really, I didn't even have a spell in mind, my only thought was that I had to get in, and I didn't even know why. Did you kill it?" He snorted derisively.

"Of course. My instincts have not completely deserted me."

"The Aurors will be sniffing around now. They can't do much since there was a valid bounty on every wolf, dead or alive, but they'll come." He nodded consideringly, and for the first time since she encountered him again she saw the Slytherin glitter of guile in his eyes. She couldn't look away, and finally understood what set her so off balance with this man. Contradiction. He lived it, he was contradiction in a palpable way, and Hermone Granger could never let an interesting subject alone.

"I became curious, you know, and ordered my staff to gather the relevant information for me." He flicked his eyes at her, and she was surprised to see cool displeasure in them. Suddenly he reminded her so strongly of Severus that it made her heart skip a beat. Did that arrogance and attitude come with the Slytherin colors, she wondered helplessly. And it had the same damn effect as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise.

"You vastly underrated the state of things, and I cannot help believing that it was purposeful because I simply cannot entertain the notion that you are so incredibly ignorant of the workings of politics not to realize what has been going on. You will not try to, shield me, from these things again. My recent adjustment in perspective has not caused me to go soft in the head, I assure you." He steepled long fingers in front of his mouth, eyes speculative.

"I have been reconsidering my decision to get involved with the current problems. I think there might indeed be some advantages to returning to wizarding society, for the both of us. It will take some amount of time to lay the foundation for that return, however. I am afraid the days of puttering happily in the innards of an engine are over for the foreseeable future."

"You have found a new game, haven't you? You always did love to play the intrigue game."

"Maybe, we shall see. So, do you want to play, too, Hermoine? You're good at it. If it weren't for those damned ridiculously noble ideals of yours you'd have been a Slytherin for certain, you're too intelligent, and cunning to be anything else."

"I never enjoyed those games like you did, Draco. I didn't relish playing both sides for information." His steel grey eyes caught hers and held them in an almost hypnotic way.

"Liar." She flushed and turned her face away, rising unsteadily from the bed, dragging the cover with her. He flicked a hand and the blanket was transfigured into a comfortable set of pajamas. She blinked, unused to such a casual use of wandless, and wordless magic. It was as if he had no idea how incredibly difficult that sort of control was for most wizards. But then, Draco Malfoy had never been like most wizards.

"You apparated us without a wand." It was a statement and he treated it as such.

"Wands are simply a crutch for simple magic. It's a shame they don't teach that at Hogwarts, but then, what do you expect from a society that restricts underage magic to the grounds of a politically controlled school environment?" He created a small ball of light and rolled it around his hands, a simple, but elegant parlor trick. She smiled. "Let me ask you a question, can a wand do magic on its own?"

"Of course not, that's ridiculous," she shot back. He nodded.

"Indeed. Nearly as ridiculous as the notion that wizards must have a wand at all times. If you go back far enough in history you would at some time find the creation of the first wand. That means there were wizards before wands, manifesting skill at wandless magic. Odd how a tool that was likely designed to be an aid for some incredibly complex spell somehow became the most relied upon crutch in history. "

"How much can you do?" he shrugged.

"Enough. I managed to take care of myself and you tonight, did I not?"

"Yes, you cast the curse without it, too, didn't you? Do you even need a wand, Draco, or is it just for show?" He chuckled.

"Most of my life has been just for show, Hermoine, but I am quite glad to have my wand back. One does rather feel naked without it. Now, I think you are well enough to go back to my flat, and we could both use some rest. Let's not dawdle here; clinics and hospitals are not my favorite places."

By the time he apparated them back to his flat the damage had been so completely repaired that she could see no evidence that anything had ever happened. He took in her amazement and simply chuckled.

"I like order in my living spaces, did you really think I would leave the place ankle deep in blood and werewolf remains? You need some sleep to let those potions keep working, and to let your body build its reserves back up. Come on." He led her to the huge bed in the corner, pulling the emerald silk duvet and black satin sheet down, and handing her in, then to her shock he casually shed the black t-shirt and trousers he had changed into at the clinic and climbed in beside her in nothing but a snug pair of boxer briefs. At her wide eyed stare he only chuckled.

"Really, don't you think it's a bit late now for prudery? You've seen me, I've seen you, we both quite enjoyed the sight, though I'd have much preferred that you had not been gouting blood out of every orifice at the time. I'm far too tired and you are far too weak to attempt anything resembling sex," he paused, and let his eyes go hot, sweeping down her body. "Especially of the type I would require. So go to sleep, Hermoine, and I shall do the same. I am certainly not sleeping on the sofa in my own flat when there is room for four at least in this bed." She subsided without a word, much to his surprise; she must have been more tired than he thought.

"Only four, Draco, are you sure?" He chuckled quietly into the dark; she had found her wits again, thank the gods.

"Well, no, I've not yet attempted to add a fifth. Perhaps you could help me test the limits, just don't forget to allow sufficient room for the necessary movement."

"Draco!" she sounded so scandalized he couldn't resist twtting her just a bit more.

"Don't worry, we'll chose the other occupants together, I've no doubt you're a woman of amazing good taste and sophisticated discrimination." He waited several moments for a tart reply, raising an eyebrow when there was none. Ten points to Slytherin, he chuckled inwardly, just before he dropped into a deep sleep.

Draco woke as he always did, completely aware and alert from the moment he opened his eyes. He thought it was a holdover from the war when he found himself summoned at all times of the day and night by the Dark Lord. He started to sit up, he always rose as soon as he woke, but there was a weight on his shoulder and across his chest that moved with a sleepy grumble when he started to sit up. He subsided back, blinking and looked down to where Hermoine was sprawled half across him, her head on his shoulder, arm slung across his chest, pulling him to her almost possessively. Fascinated by her hair he wound a strand around his finger, then let it spring back, appreciating it's softness. Obviously she had finally realized what quality hair projects could do for her. She was still deeply asleep, he saw, and no wonder, he'd truly thought he was going to be holding her dead body in the short time it took it apparate to his clinic. He'd barely given notice to the werewolf, dispatching it was more a nuisance than a battle. It was the blood, so much blood; he knew similar curses, and felt a sick knot of panic telling him he was going to be too late, or that the only possible cure he could think of would not be enough. Thank all the gods it had been. And now he was truly involved. It was beyond conscience, beyond political ideals, beyond even wanting the approval of the extraordinary witch in his arms, something he realized with no little self reproach that he wanted very badly. Had wanted for almost the entire time he had known her. No, the bastards had now made it personal. It had been a long time for grudges for him, at one point he had even thought he would be able to live the life of a semi normal human. Perhaps he would have been if he'd stayed in the safe haven of the muggle world, insulated and suffocated by the banality of the hard life.

He should have realized he would never be able to stay forever. He was who and what he was. He was a product of pureblood high society, a scion of power, money and influence, bred with the confidence and arrogance of a hundred generations of talent. And he liked the power. It was what had drawn him to Voldemort at first, before he realized it was twisted and unnatural, and would destroy any chance he would ever have of anything decent in his life. Before he started to care about the difference between right and wrong.

He levitated her sleeping form just enough to be able to slip out of bed without waking her, then tucked the covers gently back around her. Slipping into a pair of black flowing lounge pants, he padded barefoot and bare chested to the kitchen and put the kettle on, and with a grimace reluctantly slid a pair of reading glasses onto his nose before settling down with another file, and a muggle laptop computer. There was work to be done.


	6. Chapter 6 Allies Again

"I want it leaked. Yes, I know, but I have my reasons. Our transition needs to be noteworthy but not infamous. And there is the not inconsequential matter of her marriage order to Goyle. It disappears. Goyle will know better than to object." Hermoine blinked slowly, her eyes finding him at the huge picture window in the loft, the view overlooking the city. The black dragon tattoo on his back stood out in stark contrast to the pale alabaster of his skin, and the dragon seemed to writhe as the muscles of his back tensed and relaxed. The curling, barbed tail ended just at his waist, sitting an inch above where the waistband of his flowing black pants balanced on his hips. There was a Bluetooth earpiece glowing softly on his right ear, and she could see just his aquiline profile in the subdued light from the tinted window. He was carrying himself differently, she thought. The carefree grace was gone, and that damnable catlike, arrogant prowl was back in force, his cool stare out the window bringing back visions of the war. She closed her eyes. What had she done? She'd brought a new war, and much as he tried to deny it, Draco was a good man, and he would fight. Again. As if on cue a rich, melodious chuckle came from deep in his chest.

"Yes, you have the right of it, Wildemore, it is time, I have been too long gone, and there are many who need a," he paused, and smiled. "reminder, let us say, that complacency is a dangerous thing in this world. My fathers' way had its place, my friend, but he wielded power like a cudgel, bashing people about head to force them to his will because he liked to see them grovel. A cudgel is a crude weapon for crude use. Power should be wielded with elegance, like a fine blade. I have always been partial to finely honed blades. See to Ms. Grangers marriage decree first, it is an impediment that I have no particular desire to waste time on, besides, the problem will not only be quite likely moot, but also the least of their worries soon. Just do as I say, you will understand later."

"Draco." He turned sharply at her voice, his body noticeable relaxing, and strode over to sit on the bed beside her, one hand going to her wrist to check her pulse, the other pulling her eyelids up, inspecting her pupils. After a minute of inspection he nodded, relief in his expression.

"You're looking stronger. You scared the hell out of me, Hermoine Granger, never, ever do that again. I am not accustomed to worrying about someone. Do not give me occasion to have to do so again." He brushed his thumb over her lower lip tenderly, then pressed a kiss onto her hair before moving to the kitchen to pour her a cup of strong tea. She was more than a little bemused by these tender actions considering the tenor of the conversation she had overheard. Could it be that he could be such a complex dichotomy of traits at once? She didn't even try not to watch him move around, adding a plate of biscuits, nearly dropping them before they rose of their own accord and sailed to the bed, settling securely by her hip. Gods he was gorgeous, she admitted, an incredible blend of sophistication and danger, and regardless of the insane circumstances that precipitated his extreme tattoo work, the dragon and the sleeve of swirling patterns and pictures made her breath constrict in her throat. She wanted to climb him, she realized, with an equal mix of lust and disgust at herself. But that was not going to happen. She'd had little luck in love, no man could ever begin to compare with the memory of Severus, and she'd come away disappointed and disillusioned until she simply stopped trying. Draco could be the one man who could be what she wanted, but this time she knew she was irretrievably outclassed. When she had been with Severus, the threat of imminent death had put the old class and station argument to rest for a time, and they had been able to overlook that he was twenty years her senior, and the scion of an old pureblood family in their desperate, doomed love. Life wouldn't allow a chance with a man like that again.

He wondered if she knew that her eyes told all her emotions now, then decided she couldn't. Or perhaps it was just that he could see her better than most. But that was only the natural way, after all, whether she knew it yet or not, she belonged to him. She would have a hard time accepting that sort of concept, so he simply wouldn't tell her, it didn't matter. No matter what they did or did not do she would eventually be his.

"Silk sheets become you, they match your skin," he drawled, sliding a finger down her cheek. "And under more ordinary circumstances I would make sure you stayed wrapped in them for a good portion of the day, however, I don't believe you're quite up to that, and I find myself in the unenviable position of having acquired enough conscience to care. Therefore, now you've drunk your tea there's a bath drawn so you can remove the remnants of last nights activity while I explain the conversation you were so carefully eavesdropping on."

"While?" he smiled as her eyes widened.

"I can charm the bath water to be opaque for the sake of your modesty if you insist, though what real point that has is quite beyond me."

"I can charm the water myself, if I want," she grumped. "I'm not an invalid. I feel almost perfect."

"You felt perfect last night, but that's not an indication of recovery." She flushed at his reminder of them curled together into a tight knot on his bed. She'd not had the strength to deny him something that simple, not that she'd had any desire whatsoever to do so, and he'd been the perfect gentleman. Dammit. She acknowledged that she had no more idea how to handle this new, seductive and sophisticated Draco than she had the arrogant pureblood prat that he'd been ten years ago. It was frustrating and fascinating.

She did charm the bathwater opaque, she had never developed the confidence to unashamedly flaunt her body. He sighed in mock disappointment and sat on the edge of the tub, smirking that inimitable Malfoy smirk.

"I have decided that you might be right about it being time for me to go back to wizarding society," he started, giving her a nod of acknowledgement. "But not as the outcast scion of a disgraced family. No, that won't do at all. If I'm to oust that worthless git, Shackelbolt I'm going to have to reclaim some of the grandeur of the Malfoy name, not an easy thing with the damage my parents managed to do to it."

"But you have a plan." His smile was beautific.

"Silly Granger, of course I have a plan, I always have a plan. It's going to be a process, the wheels will always turn slowly. And by the way, since you dragged me into this, you're coming along for the , my dear, are about to become the new wizarding power couple. We're going to ride the waves of the press back into the top of society, then we're going to remake the world in our image."

"What!? Are you cracked? Draco, we can't exactly go striding into Diagon Alley amid flash bulbs, well, maybe you could but I'd be arrested on the spot."

"Your legal issues will soon be on a very far back burner, but that's beside the point. We're starting out in the Muggle world, where the only thing anyone knows about me is that I'm rich, single, powerful, and good looking. That makes me above reproach here. But we're not staying beyond reproach, no, that's too easy. We have an image to cultivate." And he slowly began to outline his plan.


	7. Chapter 7 Working the System

Harry Potter sat at his desk in the Aurors office at the Ministry of Magic scanning the Quibbler for rumors and gossip that might help them track the next death eater. The years had been less than kind to The Boy Who Lived. The scar on his forehead was only one of several now, he walked with a permanent limp from a tangle with a werewolf, and looked closer to forty than thirty. His storybook romance with Ginny Weasley had not lasted out five years before she left him, taking the children, informing him he was becoming no better than the Death Eaters he hunted anymore. Since she had a black eye from his hand at the time, he had to acknowledge that she was probably right. He hadn't contested the divorce, and when the Marriage Laws were instituted he heard that she remarried to a bloke named Hardison, a Hufflepuff two years ahead of them at Hogwarts. He was a tailor, of all things, and everything practical and kind. She was kind enough to tell him his children had a far better father than he had ever been. He believed her and respected her wishes that he stay away. It had taken a surprisingly short time for him to stop feeling guilty.

Celebrating Freedom! The headline screamed from above the fold, and he frowned down at the photo of a couple in the middle of what looked like a crowded Muggle dance floor dancing so viscerally that it looked like they would start shagging on the floor momentarily. Looking closer at the two he swore and his face paled. He was at Ron's desk so fast that he wasn't sure that he hadn't apparated there, and shoved the paper under Ron's nose with a hand that shook.

"Bloody hell, mate, give a bloke a minute, will you?" Ron turned bleary eyes away from the paper, and downed a sober-up potion. Harry was beginning to think Ron lived on nothing but sober up and pepper up potions, Firewhiskey and crisps. He was, if anything, more rumpled than he had managed to be at school, and Harry was starting to think unless he crawled out of the bottle soon he wouldn't last too many more battles.

"Fucking Malfoy! The bastard! Out dancing to celebrate the fact that his fucking sentence is up. How dare that sadistic fuck show his face where we can find him! Does he really think his money is going to buy his way back….what, Ron!" he jerked his arm away from his friends tapping hand, glaring down at him.

"Harry, look who he's dancing with. It's Hermoine." He froze, looking down at the picture again, and a muscle in his jaw started to tic.

'Former Slytherin Golden Boy, Draco Malfoy was seen celebrating the end of his sentence and the return of his wand in a Muggle nightclub in High Gate last night with none other than Voldemorts Whore herself, Muggleborn witch, Hermoine Granger. While Malfoy seems to have recovered from the pureblood mania that marked his family, this reporter can only question his taste in paramours.

'When approached for comment, Mr. Malfoy's only comment was "it's a party, mate, who cares who anyone is?' and he then offered this reporter a drink.' Bloody hell." Ron sat staring at the paper for several minutes, shaking his head slowly.

"Why on earth would Hermoine have anything to do with bloody Malfoy?" he asked. Harry snorted.

"Christ Ron, have you already forgotten everything? She and Snape and Malfoy were all in Voldemorts bloody inner circle together. Spies, remember. Or so they claimed."

"Hey, Harry, don't forget, the information she got us kept us alive and able to fight for a long time."

"Yeah, maybe, but Snape and Malfoy? I never trusted the two of them and they were all three thick as thieves. And you tell me Ron, how do you lie down with dogs for so long and not get up with fleas? What was there to say that we couldn't have moved far sooner? What did they hold back or even lie about? Maybe she was shagging both of them, not just Snape." The two shuddered in revulsion at the very thought.

"It's too coincidental, that's all I'm saying. It bears checking out. I don't want to believe Hermoine did anything wrong, but if you think for one second that I'm going to let bloody _Malfoy _just waltz back into society like he has the right to keep company with decent wizards and witches…" Ron sighed, recognizing the look in Harry's eyes. It was the same look that he got right before the Crucio's started to fly in interrogation. Harry wanted information, and what he wanted, he would get, by any means necessary.

"I don't see the point of all this." Hermoine put her makeup on with a final wand flourish, checking her reflection to make sure the backless lame halter top was placed properly to frame the black dragon tattoo across her own back. The black leggings, cinched at the knee and high heeled shoes were the height of muggle fashion, and Draco had her wear her hair partially up, making sure the tattoo was fully exposed. Jewelry that was so expensive she was sure the price could feed a small third world country dangled from her ears, wrists, and fingers and adorned her updo. Draco had insisted on it, and personally chose every piece, including her wardrobe since Hermione had always paid little attention to fashion of any kind. She hadn't seen the point in any of it, and he had scoffed at her naivete.

"First the Muggle world, Granger. Creating an image here is nothing but a matter of being seen in the correct place with the correct people, spending huge amounts of money in the right places and making sure everyone knows about it, and finally, making everyone wish they were you. The pictures and stories will carry over from here to the wizarding world, we both know that. We need to have it out at the start that you will not hide behind frumpy hair and weedy clothes to make people forget who you are. No, we want them to notice both of us. We want our faces and names on every pair of lips we can because eventually when they don't find anything to disapprove of, when we've become commonplace, someone will say out loud that we aren't that bad. Once that starts to happen we can leak some additional tidbits to the press and slowly the tide of popular opinion will turn. People are shallow, Granger, and being young, rich and beautiful counts."

"So you want my tattoo flaunted all over so that people will get so used to it that they won't really associate it with Voldemort anymore?" He trailed his lips down her shoulder, nibbling the back of her neck until she gasped.

"More than that. I want that tattoo to become your trademark, a badge of courage and a sign to everyone who sees you of exactly who you are and what you did to save them."

"No one will ever really believe that." He smiled.

"Want to bet? You asked for my help for a reason, now you need to accept it. I learned how to play the press from my fathers knee, it's almost sadly simple, but it does take some time. And for the final plan I need you with me; this is how we do it."

"By casting me as your ultimate bad girl lover?" he grinned.

"How perfect is it? Between the two of us we have the makings to be every teenagers fantasy. Dangerous, a little dark, and quite likely the two most powerful wizards in the world. And if you'd simply say yes, it would be more than casting you in a part." She snorted softly and moved away.

"Right, Malfoy, so you keep saying, but I still have some standards. I don't want to be a convenient plaything because you can't afford to be seen with someone better." His jaw dropped. Had _that _been her problem for the past month and a half? He'd never worked so hard in his life to get a woman into his bed with so little success. He'd recently begun to wonder if she was still carrying some sort of misguided torch of grief for his godfather, but that just didn't seem to fit. Now it made far more sense. And it needed to be resolved immediately, before it caused more problems. The rub was that he could completely understand her thoughts. When they were younger he had tormented her unceasingly because he knew that was what his father wanted and he had been determined to do and be exactly what the old bastard wished. Once he changed sides he had ceased to torment her, but he'd been in such a pit of hell himself that he'd been a cold, unfeeling ass to everyone around him, totally emotionless and focused on nothing but getting the war over with as quickly as possible. It was only once she found him again that he allowed himself to realize what an incredible witch she had always been, and to look at her through really open eyes. But he hadn't told her that, at least in so many words, so of course she believed the worst.

They were supposed to go clubbing again tonight, he had made sure the location was leaked to the press again, along with the setup that some of his hangers on would be from various causes that he had been funneling cash to for some time that he knew wouldn't be able to keep their mouths shut to reporters about it. It was the start of showing his philanthropic side, and was an important step in the plan. It was nowhere near as important as she was.

He followed her to the door, and reached over her head, shutting it firmly before she could exit.

"What rot," he drawled, turning her around to face him. She grimaced, and he realized that he had not and would probably never lose his innate snarkiness. Well, it couldn't be helped and she would just have to get over it. He thought that might happen after twenty or thirty years. Maybe. "Why would I ever want any other woman, Muggle or witch, when you're here? Brilliant," he brushed his lips across hers lightly. "Beautiful." He nipped her jaw, making her sigh. "Powerful." He pulled her arms up around his neck, nuzzling into her throat. "And gods, so sexy. I'm not the callow prat I used to be, Hermoine, I know precious when I see it, and I will be gods damned if I let you deride yourself that way."

"Draco, I …" she looked so shocked, flustered, and finally, he knew that look. It was longing. He wanted to shut her up before she could talk herself away from him.

"Don't love, just let me show you what I can give you." His mouth cut off the rest of what she was going to say, and he finally was able to give in to his desires and kiss her.

Hermoine barely had time to suck in a breath before she was engulfed in pure liquid sensation. Draco had been the only man other than Severus who could move her, and the even more incredible thing in his kiss was that she could feel and taste his need and passion. She sank into his arms, opening her mouth to him, and felt him shudder against her, yanking her hips to his. She gasped, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal against her belly as his hands caressed her back and his mouth made love sensuously to hers. It was several minutes before he pulled back, resting their foreheads together as their breathing slowed to normal. After a few minutes he pulled back slightly, his silver eyes completely serious as he took a deep breath.

"You see? We could be good together, very good."

"I know that, but I want to win this new war we're fighting, and if we do then more than likely you're going to need a socially acceptable, political wife. I have to have a life after this, too, and I'm not the type to have an affair then walk away. The press will get what they need from us, I know that's expected, but I just, I can't." He allowed her to pull away, a hard knot forming in his chest. She was the only woman who had ever known him, the whole man, and accepted him, forgiven him without judgement. She had watched him during the worst moments of his life, watched him cast Unforgivable curses, flay the skin from the bodies of other human beings and use his talents for Legilimency to rip into the minds of innocent wizards, driving them to madness so he could lie to the Dark Lord about what he had seen. He was damned if he would let that go for political expediency or any other reason, but he realized she would not accept that, at least not yet. It seemed, he thought with no little irony, the only way to catch a Gryffindor was to use extremely Slytherin tactics. Very well. He would bind her to him slowly, seduce her mind and heart without touching her body until she was in too deep to resist, then he would make her his, and damn the rest of it. She would make a perfectly acceptable political wife if that was what so concerned her, it would take a bit more time, but he could see to that as well.

"I knew you'd have to be difficult one way or the other, Granger, now we know. If you ever get tired of sleeping with your principles, let me know, hmm?" She didn't reply with the acerbic sarcasm he half expected, and he looked down to see just a flicker of regret and something else in her eyes before the mask of neutrality slammed down behind them.

"I'm sure you'll manage without me to keep you company at night." He snorted.

"I suppose I shall have to manage without a great many things. After all, this charade has us as a couple, and since you are dead set on denying us the benefits of it…"

"Don't worry, I won't tease you when I see the shower running longer than your usual hour," she managed to joke, surprising a blush out of him. "Why Malfoy, you can blush, I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself." The ruddy color deepened, and he spun on his heel, giving her a glare.

"Don't get used to it, Granger, you simply caught me by surprise. I never thought those over developed Gryffindor morals of yours would allow you to acknowledge that people would do such things. Which begs the question…" She put up a hand and he had the satisfaction of seeing a matching flush hit her cheeks.

"Do not even attempt to continue that train of thought, this subject is closed for discussion. Let's get going, we're going to be late."

"We cannot possibly be late, we are the whole reason the party is occurring. If we decide to arrive later, that just means everyone else arrived too early. They'll wait."


	8. Chapter 8 Changing the Rules

The newspapers were in love with them, and Hermoine couldn't believe how simple it really was turning out to be. Draco took them everywhere stylish, to every party, gallery opening, and sporting event. They yachted in the Mediterranean, met movie stars and politicians. They were, without a doubt the most famous wizards to ever hit the muggle press, and no muggle suspected that they were anything other than what they claimed.

Their twin tattoos caused an entire fashion trend, and couples with matching tattoos became all the fashion after photos of them on holiday at a beach were published. They were, as he had promised, the ultimate power couple, rich, beautiful, philanthropic for the oddest of causes, spending money like it was water.

They collected the headlines and traced the carryover to the wizarding world. They both found it amusing that the articles that had at first completely vilified them both had begun to slowly change. There were rumors now in the Quibbler that Draco's sentence had been for show and he was working on some secret project for the Ministry to collect intelligence on the Muggle world. Hermoine would have happily kissed Luna for the story, mentions of using Snorkacks for messenger animals aside if she'd seen her, but that was the one thing Draco refused to allow. He would not enter or be seen in any wizarding city, sector or town. It wasn't time yet. Let them think they didn't care to be part of that society, and soon enough jealousy of the muggles would set in, and the world would come to them. She wanted to believe he was crazy, that people were not seriously so easy to manipulate, but the proof had so far been on his side so she curbed the natural desire to argue and let him have his way.

She had learned quite a lot about the enigmatic wizard in the few months that they had been playing this game, the foremost being that quite possibly no one had ever really known him to start with.

Draco was old pureblood, old money, old title, and as such had been taught from the time he could walk and talk that there were responsibilities that came with that legacy. Never show weakness, never forget who and what he was, never forget that everyone is subordinate in either wealth, power or status to him, and make sure they remember it too. Never show fear or doubt, never appear less than perfect at any time. They were lessons Lucius Malfoy never allowed his son to forget, and lapses were punished with a variety of hexes that ranged from unpleasant to vicious. She had seen a glimpse of him, she thought, when she first found him in that bike shop, living like a muggle and almost content. It was something she found that she gravely missed.

He wore his public façade now, even in the London penthouse he had relocated them to when they embarked upon this plan. She wasn't quite sure why it was this way, maybe it was habit, maybe design. But on this rare night in when they had nothing to do but sip firewhiskey and talk she missed the man she'd so briefly seen.

_Old habits really do die hard, I suppose. Ten years, ten bloody years and I thought I had changed so much, but all she had to do was walk back into my life and suddenly I was the same person I was all those years ago. Well, that isn't precisely true, I suppose. If I were really the same I wouldn't be gnashing my teeth every night over the fact that she's a room away and won't let me touch her. No, I would be too busy vociferously insisting that she repulses me with her filthy muggle blood. Merlin help me if that wouldn't almost be a relief at this point. But no. She didn't know what she was asking for when she dragged me back in to this new cause, I know that. I knew. It's a life I've lived before, a screen of smoke and mirrors that becomes such second nature that the line between who you are and who you pretend to be begins to blur. _

_It's already happening to her. The sweet bookworm has learned to differentiate between Gucci and Prada and knows when to wear one over the other. She can make both significant and insignifcant conversation and know which to make with what group of people. She smiles when it's expected and frowns when it's expected too, and only I can see that what she thinks is practice becoming perfect is actually little pieces of herself being chipped away. _

_I want to get drunk and forget about it for a while, but even that is getting harder now. I don't want to lose the control, even in my own house. But I'm going to, and so is she and hopefully it will bring a little of ourselves back before it's too late._

"You do realize that's half the bottle gone, yeah?" he looked at it and shrugged.

"Actually I think we still have half left. We should remedy that." His next swig was straight from the bottle, and he handed it to her, motioning for her to drink when she paused. "Afraid to get drunk with me, Granger?"

"Remind me again why it is we're getting drunk in the first place." She took a hefty swig, then another to one-up him and he grinned.

"We are doing it because we can, what better reason is there? There is no press, no cameras, no one listening or watching. It's a night to do as we please." She shook her head, suddenly serious, at least as serious as she could be in her inebriated state.

"I never do what I want, why change now? And of all the things I could do, why get drunk?" He chose to ignore the logical parts of her question.

"What do you mean you never do what you want?" He yanked the bottle back and drank deep. She scowled.

"Exactly that. I always do what's expected of me, it doesn't matter what I want to do. I never wanted to be a soldier or a spy, but I was needed, so I performed. I never wanted to be a know-it-all bookworm, but it was all I knew how to be, and I had to be the brainy one, there was no one else, so I was that, too. Did you know, other than the Yule Ball and the Ministry parties that we were required to go to at first, the only times I've ever had a chance to dress up and go out have been with you." She yanked the bottle back, noted that it was getting quite close to empty now, and emptied it with three long swallows.

"Hey, bloody hell." He scowled, but she only giggled at him. He supposed it probably did look a bit petulant, and flopped back into the sofa. Then he grimaced. "Did you ever notice that this couch is bloody uncomfortable?"

"Only every time I sat on it. All the furniture in here is uncomfortable, Draco, its only here because it looks good. You know, like us." He realized that she was right, and stood, dragging her upright with him. Before she could protest he had apparated them into his old flat, approximately six feet off the floor. They landed in a graceless heap, Draco getting by far the worst of it as she landed atop him, an elbow barely missing his windpipe and instead thunking into his sternum, and one knee ramming into his thigh. He groaned, and rolled her off him, trying to be at least somewhat gentle. She looked up at him, then frowned.

"I suppose I should be grateful that you didn't splinch us, but this isn't much more comfortable. I do like it here much better, though," she observed with a sigh. "It feels like home." She dragged herself up and sank into the comfortable depths of the bed. Magical stasis was a wonderful thing and it felt as delicious as the first time she had been placed in it. He tried very hard to avoid looking at her there, it seemed regardless of how much he had to drink there were certain reactions that did not slow in the least. Grimacing, he pulled himself up and walked unsteadily over to the piano, flopping down on the bench and running his hands over the keys. This he could deal with. This he could touch, when he couldn't touch anything else he wanted.

The first few bars were tentative, waking her from the half doze she had fallen into, but they soon grew into a poignant melody that she did not recognize. He was quite good, better than good, really, she thought, beginning to sway to the music. She stood, making her way slowly to the piano, drawn like a moth to a flame. He glanced up at her, and moved over just a bit to allow her to sink down beside him. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder and allowed the music to wash over her. It must have been most of an hour before the music began to wind down and he finally met her eyes.

"That was beautiful," she said honestly. He smiled, and for the first time probably since they had left the cozy flat it was a true and honest smile, full of warmth, and she caught her breath. His eyes dropped to her lips, and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to lean towards him.

It was a sweet kiss, gentle to start with, but heating quickly. It was Draco that pulled away with a shake of his head.

"You're drunk, Moine," he said quietly. "If I let this go where I wanted you would be furious with me in the morning, and you would have every reason to be." She shook her head, and smiled.

"I told you before, I've never done anything in my life simply because I wanted to. Tomorrow we'll have to start this charade all over again and put on the public masks, but tonight I don't care about what's expected. I just want you."

He didn't reply, he simply scooped her into his arms as though she weighed nothing and carried her to the bed, coming over her to take her mouth in a kiss that curled her toes.

He was heat and muscle and smooth skin, and Hermoine couldn't touch him enough. His mouth owned hers, his tongue twining and seducing her until she was whimpering. A quick Divesto had them naked and she cried out softly as he pulled her back against him, his erection pressing into her thigh.

"Draco, please," he resisted her tugging, and pushed her hands to her sides, leaning down to swirl his tongue around a taut nipple. She bowed off the bed, pressing up towards him, rubbing herself against him. He wanted to make it last, wanted to take his time enjoying the witch beneath him but she was having nothing of it. She wrapped her legs around him when she felt him mover to settle himself between her thighs. He thrust into her with a groan, and her eyes flew wide, breath coming in short pants.

"Ah, wait, please, I didn't expect, give me a minute," she choked, trying to relax her body enough to accommodate far more than she had expected to receive. It wasn't pain, precisely, but she felt so incredibly full and stretched. He dropped his head to her shoulder, nipping lightly and his hand went down to stroke the little knot of nerves at the center of her body. She shuddered and suddenly she didn't care if she was ready, all she wanted was more. He pulled back and thrust again, and she keened in pleasure. She wouldn't let him be gentle and honestly he didn't want to be. He wanted to slam into her over and over, to mark that she was his, only his. She seemed to sense it and arched up to him begging him for more with her body. "Harder, please, I want everything," she gasped, and it was too much. He groaned and pulled back, slamming into her over and over, feeling her walls pulse and clench around him, helpless cries of pleasure ripped from her throat. She was peaking in bare minutes, and he felt her body gather in on itself in preparation.

"Gods, yes, sweetheart, come for me," he moaned, and she screamed, chanting his name, her body convulsing around him as he rode her through her climax, his own blasting deep into her as the last shudders wracked her. They collapsed together in exhaustion, sleep taking them in minutes.

She had likely never felt as good or as bad simultaneously in her life. Hermoine cracked one eye open reluctantly, moaning as horrible light accosted her. She heard a chuckle, and a bottle was tilted to her lips. She drank obediently and sighed as the worst of the hangover was immediately alleviated.

"Better?" she nodded, carefully opening both eyes to see Draco leaned over her, shirtless and looking decidedly too chipper for the amount of alcohol he had imbibed the night before. He was also incredibly sexy, which excused his good mood. Giving in to impulse, and figuring after what she had enthusiastically done with him not once, not twice but at least three times the previous night, she ran a hand into his blond hair, then down his chest. His open smile was her reward for letting him know she had no regrets.

"You look far better than you have a right to," she said huskily, wincing at a rawness in her throat. He held up a purple potion and swung it in front of her eyes.

"One of these and two hangover potions, it's damn near miraculous. You want one?"

"Healing potion?" he shrugged.

"Of a sort. It's my own creation, has a lot of the same properties, but has an added kick. You would probably do well to try it." She attempted to sit up and winced.

"Yeah, I think you're right, Merlin, I feel like I've been run over by a truck." She swigged the potion down and shuddered at the strange crawling sensation though her body. Then her eyes widened.

"That's amazing! I feel, well, fabulous." He winked.

"Now you know my secret. Hungry?" She smiled and his eyes went from open and amused to predatory in a few seconds. She caught her breath, thoughts going from breakfast to something else in seconds flat. He pulled away with a chuckle.

"Oh no, woman, you get no more of that until I get fed. I have to keep my strength up if I'm to be mauled by a witch with the drive of an overstimulated veela." He laughed at her outraged gasp and turned to saunter into the kitchen. "Now, after breakfast on the other hand…" By the time she exited the shower he had a breakfast ready that would easily feed a small army, and was savoring a cup of coffee.

"You are very fortunate that I am so ingrained in manners that I waited for you, or you might not get a bite," he said, handing her a cup and starting to pile his plate. "I thought I might pass into the hereafter waiting for you." He waited until they were both partway through the loaded plates before speaking again.

"You do realize there is no going back after this." It was a statement. He seemed to enjoy doing that to her, making pronouncements, not allowing her an opening to argue. It was the only tack to forestall an argument, and he used it shamelessly. "And I don't want to. I've made no secret of the fact that I want you, and now I've had you it's going to become an addiction."

"This is not conducive to our plans. I'm not sorry, far from it." Her smile was smug, and he couldn't restrain a smirk. "But we're going to have to rethink our plans."

"Not substantially. Your entire objection to our becoming intimate, if I recall correctly, was that you thought I would, at some point, need to acquire a suitable wife to advance our political agenda. Odd how I wasn't given much of a choice in that particular matter." She had the grace to be somewhat chagrined. "But it will work out for the best. Now that we have seen how compatible we are in many significant ways, and many more thoroughly pleasurable ones, it seems only logical that you become that ever so suitable wife." He watched, keeping his amusement in check as her face paled.

"You have to be joking." He bent back to his food with gusto, ignoring her tone.

"Not at all. You knew at the outset that this hairbrained scheme of yours was going to require years of careful handling. I think you believed that you would effectively aim me like a missile at the political arena and after you made sure the trajectory was correct, you would simply fade out into happy obscurity, secure in the knowledge that I would be addicted enough to the power and influence that I would have no objection to having my life so thoroughly, managed."

"I didn't think of it that way." He chuckled.

"Gods, Moine, you really would have made a fine Slytherin. No, I dare say you thought it would work out fabulously well for all concerned, but that was still the essence of the concept behind the actions. Your devious mind is delightful, and will make you a perfect politicians wife, especially once I teach you a bit about the art of influence. No, you're not getting out of this plot as unscathed as you think, but I believe we will deal incredibly well. I find myself quite pleased with this outcome."

"A bit cold blooded, don't you think?" she was pushing her food around her plate now, and he was glad he had waited to make certain that she had some food in her before informing her of the change in plans. He might have felt guilty at turning the tables on her so effectively if he was not who and what he was, but he had never been too concerned at manipulating people, especially when he was right. They would deal incredibly well together; he knew that. He had decided months ago that she belonged to him, but bided his time until he could begin to bind her to him, now there was plenty of time for her to realize it as well. He decided to address her question after another moment.

"I don't think that there is much of anything between the two of us that could be termed cold blooded in the least," he said simply. "Will it be more difficult? Yes. Will it take more time than you first thought? Likely. But," he caught her eyes, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made her insides shiver. "I have no intention of letting you run from me, Hermoine. And if you're honest, I don't think you want to."

"Damn your arrogance." She picked up her fork again, and managed another bite of eggs. He decided that was the only sort of acknowledgement he was likely to get this soon, and was willing to accept it, at least for now. He saluted her with his coffee cup, already wondering how to spin the story when it came out that the newest Mrs. Malfoy was going to be not only a mudblood, but also one of the most infamous in the last century. He wished for a moment that his father was still alive simply so he could rub the bastards nose in it.


	9. Chapter 9 They're Up To Something

_A/N : ok, really short chapter this time, but I didn't want to muddy up the story line. Also, a heads up that this chapter contains Dark!Harry, and that's going to continue through the rest of the fic. _

Ron looked at the bulletin board in the small meeting room, his head splitting, his mouth tasting like dragon dung, as Harry moved from photo to photo, making notes, muttering, running his hands through his perpetually messy hair. A frisson of severe unease went through Ron as he watched his old friend, and not for the first time he considered expressing his concerns to Shackelbolt. The problem was, Ron was by no means reassured that Kingsley would take his concerns seriously or do anything at all about Harry.

Ron avoided being paired with Harry on assignments now, maybe it was cowardly, but he couldn't stand to watch what Harry did to the detainees, and he didn't have the power to make him stop. The last time he had tried to restrain Harry during an interrogation he'd ended up at the business end of Harry's wand, his friend snarling, and disconcerting flickers of red in the depths of his hazel eyes. There was a wild violence there, an out of control viciousness that frightened him to his toes.

"They're criminals, Ron, no better than Death Eaters, and if you aren't ready to do what needs to be done…" he let the threat trail off. Now he was sitting here, watching as Harry went from photo to photo faster and faster, as if looking for a pattern that was just out of reach.

"I don't understand it, Ron! Look at him, look at them! Bloody nerve, thinking he can come back here and live like a person instead of the monster I know he is. Sentence be damned! They gave him his wand, his wand, after what he did, knowing who he is! And her, I trusted her, and now look. First Snape, and I tried to understand, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, I knew what she was doing had to be hard, and maybe he understood, so I didn't do anything. But now she goes to Malfoy? How can she whore herself out to that bastard!"

"Harry, Malfoy must have changed some or he wouldn't be within a hundred yards of her, much less shagging her, mate, right? If he were still the old Malfoy he wouldn't touch a muggleborn, afraid of getting himself dirty, but the papers say he's been living in Muggle London for the past ten years. I mean, time can change a fellow, right?"

"Malfoy's don't change," Harry hissed. "I don't know what game they're playing, but I'll figure it out. I guess dark magic is enough to even overcome blood hatred for that git, but what does she get out of it, Ron? Money? Power?"

"Harry, it's Hermoine! She wouldn't do something like that. Maybe I should go talk to her, ask her what's going on. If he's still dark and she's with him maybe she's spying again, waiting for the right time to come to us. She's done it before. Remember, she'd already started to spy for Dumbledore when she told us about it because she knew we'd try to talk her out of it."

"That was her story then. But do you ever wonder, Ron? I do. Sure, she gave us some intel, but why would she go direct to Voldemort? There were easier ways, supposedly we already had Snape and Malfoy in the inner circle."

"She probably didn't trust them at first either, wanted to make sure they weren't leading us into a trap." But Harry was already pacing in front of the photos again, and he could tell that his old friend hadn't really heard him. Ron left quietly, wondering if there was anything left in the backup flask he kept in his desk.

He didn't see Harry slowly draw his wand down one photo of Malfoy and Hermoine, a trail of fire following the trail, slowly consuming the photo until it crumbled to ash.


	10. Chapter 10 The Future Mrs Malfoy?

She had likely never felt as good or as bad simultaneously in her life. Hermoine cracked one eye open reluctantly, moaning as horrible light accosted her. She heard a chuckle, and a bottle was tilted to her lips. She drank obediently and sighed as the worst of the hangover was immediately alleviated.

"Better?" she nodded, carefully opening both eyes to see Draco leaned over her, shirtless and looking decidedly too chipper for the amount of alcohol he had imbibed the night before. He was also incredibly sexy, which excused his good mood. Giving in to impulse, and figuring after what she had enthusiastically done with him not once, not twice but at least three times the previous night, she ran a hand into his blond hair, then down his chest. His open smile was her reward for letting him know she had no regrets.

"You look far better than you have a right to," she said huskily, wincing at a rawness in her throat. He held up a purple potion and swung it in front of her eyes.

"One of these and two hangover potions, it's damn near miraculous. You want one?"

"Healing potion?" he shrugged.

"Of a sort. It's my own creation, has a lot of the same properties, but has an added kick. You would probably do well to try it." She attempted to sit up and winced.

"Yeah, I think you're right, Merlin, I feel like I've been run over by a truck." She swigged the potion down and shuddered at the strange crawling sensation though her body. Then her eyes widened.

"That's amazing! I feel, well, fabulous." He winked.

"Now you know my secret. Hungry?" She smiled and his eyes went from open and amused to predatory in a few seconds. She caught her breath, thoughts going from breakfast to something else in seconds flat. He pulled away with a chuckle.

"Oh no, woman, you get no more of that until I get fed. I have to keep my strength up if I'm to be mauled by a witch with the drive of an overstimulated veela." He laughed at her outraged gasp and turned to saunter into the kitchen. "Now, after breakfast on the other hand…" By the time she exited the shower he had a breakfast ready that would easily feed a small army, and was savoring a cup of coffee.

"You are very fortunate that I am so ingrained in manners that I waited for you, or you might not get a bite," he said, handing her a cup and starting to pile his plate. "I thought I might pass into the hereafter waiting for you." He waited until they were both partway through the loaded plates before speaking again.

"You do realize there is no going back after this." It was a statement. He seemed to enjoy doing that to her, making pronouncements, not allowing her an opening to argue. It was the only tack to forestall an argument, and he used it shamelessly. "And I don't want to. I've made no secret of the fact that I want you, and now I've had you it's going to become an addiction."

"This is not conducive to our plans. I'm not sorry, far from it." Her smile was smug, and he couldn't restrain a smirk. "But we're going to have to rethink our plans."

"Not substantially. Your entire objection to our becoming intimate, if I recall correctly, was that you thought I would, at some point, need to acquire a suitable wife to advance our political agenda. Odd how I wasn't given much of a choice in that particular matter." She had he grace to somewhat chagrined. "But it will work out for the best. Now that we have seen how compatible we are in many significant ways, and many more thoroughly pleasurable ones, it seems only logical that you become that ever so suitable wife." He watched, keeping his amusement in check as her face paled.

"You have to be joking." He bent back to his food with gusto, ignoring her tone.

"Not at all. You knew at the outset that this hairbrained scheme of yours was going to require years of careful handling. I think you believed that you would effectively aim me like a missile at the political arena and after you made sure the trajectory was correct, you would simply fade out into happy obscurity, secure in the knowledge that I would be addicted enough to the power and influence that I would have no objection to having my life so thoroughly, managed."

"I didn't think of it that way." He chuckled.

"Gods, Moine, you really would have made a fine Slytherin. No, I dare say you thought it would work out fabulously well for all concerned, but that was still the essence of the concept behind the actions. Your devious mind is delightful, and will make you a perfect politicians wife, especially once I teach you a bit about the art of influence. No, you're not getting out of this plot as unscathed as you think, but I believe we will deal incredibly well. I find myself quite pleased with this outcome."

"A bit cold blooded, don't you think?" she was pushing her food around her plate now, and he was glad he had waited to make certain that she had some food in her before informing her of the change in plans. He might have felt guilty at turning the tables on her so effectively if he was not who and what he was, but he had never been too concerned at manipulating people, especially when he was right. They would deal incredibly well together; he knew that. He had decided months ago that she belonged to him, but bided his time until he could begin to bind her to him, now there was plenty of time for her to realize it as well. He decided to address her question after another moment.

"I don't think that there is much of anything between the two of us that could be termed cold blooded in the least," he said simply. "Will it be more difficult? Yes. Will it take more time than you first thought? Likely. But," he caught her eyes, and there was an intensity in his gaze that made her insides shiver. "I have no intention of letting you run from me, Hermoine. And if you're honest, I don't think you want to."

"Damn your arrogance." She picked up her fork again, and managed another bite of eggs. He decided that was the only sort of acknowledgement he was likely to get this soon, and was willing to accept it, at least for now. He saluted her with his coffee cup, already wondering how to spin the story when it came out that the newest Mrs. Malfoy was going to be not only a mudblood, but also one of the most infamous in the last century. He wished for a moment that his father was still alive simply so he could rub the bastards nose in it.


	11. Chapter 11 Choosing the Battlefield

Draco looked over the stack of clippings in satisfaction, tracing the timeline in his mind. It was going to work out more perfectly than he would have believed.

The invitation had come by owl just the night before, a black and white ball to benefit the war orphans fund, hosted by none other than Evmira Pettiwig, one of the most feared and respected matrons of the wizarding world. A right old snob and complete termagent, Evmira was also a shameless pursuer of high drama, and when it was brought to her attention that one of the main contributors to her fund, through several straw men and shell corporations, was none other than Draco Malfoy, the headline catching, former death eater, well, that was too good to pass up. She had sent an invitation forthwith, more demanding his prescence than requesting it, waiting with baited breath to see if he would show, and if so, what wonderful sparks of conflict would entertain her at his appearance.

The guests were all noteworthy, from stars, politicians, independently wealthy entrepreneur wizards to old money purebloods trying to buy their way back into society. Evmira personally thought that was exactly what the Malfoy boy was attempting to do as well, but had to admire the lengths he had gone to for it to seem that he was attempting to make anonymous recompense for his familys involvement with the Dark Lord. A Slytherin alumnus herself, she appreciated that the most subtle of moves were the ones that had the most effect, and respected the level of sophistication that showed in such a young wizard. She was unsure what he was attempting to do with the Muggleborn chit he paraded about on his arm like the most precious of treasures, surely he realized that his entrée back into the fold would be ten times more difficult with Voldemorts Whore clinging to his coat tails, but perhaps there was a deeper motivation there, too. Evmira had personally never believed a word of what the Prophet published about the accomplished Ms. Granger; if she were the brightest witch of her generation as the press had initially heralded she would have never joined the ranks of the Dark Lord. The spy stories had seemed much more true to foolish Griffyndor idealism, and while she thought the girl appallingly shortsighted not to have anticipated the outcome of such a reckless move, she realized that the young did foolish things without thinking them through, especially when evil was near and death seemed all but guaranteed.

How entertaining it would be if young Malfoy did indeed have feelings for the witch, she thought. Lucius and Narcissa would be rolling in their graves in disgust, a most fitting end for the evil pair. She had disliked both intensely, for their politics and their disdainful coldness of spirit, and on the few occasions when he had crossed her mind she had felt something akin to pity for the only child that they were doubtless turning into a little monster just like themselves. She put it to the influence of Hogwarts that Draco hadn't ended up taking the Kiss with his vicious parents. Perhaps there was a little Griffyndor nobility in the handsome young wizard, wasn't that intriguing?

Draco and Hermoine had planned every moment of their entrance down to the last detail, but they both knew that the best laid plans could only take so much into consideration.

Draco had purposely not sent an RSVP to the invitation, preferring not to give notice that he would be appearing, so there couldn't be a mass cancellation to the event to avoid them. He had had a limousine enchanted like the infamous Weasley car so it would not only go along just fine on the road, but would also fly almost as nimbly as a broom. It was a masterstroke, a casual display of wealth and power, an open acknowledgement of his respect for Muggles, and it was flamboyant enough to cause a buzz without having the callowness of arriving in something like a flashy sports car. Their appearance was also calculated to cause a murmur, as their only nod to wizard wear were their cloaks, Draco choosing a rigidly formal tuxedo made stylish by the Mandarin collar and single emerald collar stud that set off his stormy grey eyes. He had allowed his hair to fall casually over one eye as well, and the back of his left hand openly displayed his tattoo work, no glamour offered to make it easier for people to pretend they didn't notice.

Hermoine was his perfect foil, his black jacket seeming even blacker next to the brilliant, glowing white of her gown. It was her now trademark backless style, dipping so low in the back that it was a spare half inch above what would be considered a scandal, but rising to a sparkling jeweled choker around her throat, the effect incredibly modest from the front, only to be shocking as she turned to walk away. The skirt made a straight fall to the floor, where bejeweled evening slippers that matched her choker glittered and caught the light.

What was perhaps the most eye catching of all, however, was something only the highest ranks of wizarding society would notice if they deigned to look at her at all. Glimmering from her ears and wrists were several of the most prestigious pieces of the Malfoy family jewels. Draco had designed the dress specifically to go with these pieces, knowing full well that a woman appearing in any of the family treasures had to be accepted as a part of that illustrious family whether or not marriage vows had taken place. Hermoine had no idea the depth of the statement his simple act entailed, and he was not about to tell her. She would figure it out, then she would argue, then she would get over it because it was already said and done, and he would be one step closer in tying her to him permanently.

Their limo descended from the sky, parking itself precisely at the door to the Lady's manor mere minutes before 'fashionably late' became 'last to arrive'. It had sailed through her wards and security like they didn't exist, and its shadow caused a huge stir in the press on the ground as it landed. The footman who opened the door swallowed visibly when he saw the trademark Malfoy blond hair in the depths of the vehicle and turned an odd shade of green as Draco stepped out of the car, his smirk firmly in place. He handed Hermoine out with elegant courtesy, and, tucking her gloved hand into the crook of his elbow, started up the long walk.

The gloves were a way to keep her wand handy, as the opera length gloves swept up her forearm with just enough length for a wand pocket that ran from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. There was still perfect ease of movement with it, and a tiny mechanism that propelled the wand down into her hand if she needed it.

Draco employed no such tricks, his wand holster as open as all the rest of the male guests, the dark ebony wood gleaming with care. The press all stood stock still for a moment, shocked by the unexpected arrival of the wizarding worlds most controversial, and possibly well known couple. Then all hell broke loose. Flash bulbs began to pop furiously, questions were shouted, screamed, every reporter mad to get even one word from the couple. They were all ignored as if they didn't exist as Draco and Hermoine swept into the house with an air of cynical amusement.

They were stopped at the top of the stairs, and Draco sighed.

"Lord Draco Malfoy, and Miss Hermoine Granger." The servant announced. To Hermoine's credit she didn't choke, pass out or similarly react to the announcement, only looked loftily around the ballroom watching for familiar faces. They were almost to the foot of the stairs when she managed to get words through clenched teeth.

"Did you forget to mention just a few things, Draco? A title? Who the hell are you people?" His snort of laughter was inaudible to any but her.

"I suppose it slipped my mind, really, it's mostly pureblood tradition to be referred to that way. It's not as if my father paid much attention to it. There's a Muggle title too, actually, passed down from the Black side, now I'm the last male of that bloodline, too. The estate is somewhere in Cornwall I believe, I've never been there. Bloody great drain on the coffers for the upkeep, but I suppose I can't really complain since it proved quite useful in getting established in the Muggle world. Oh Merlin, look lively love, here comes the old battleaxe herself. Do not let her rattle you, remember."

"Malfoy women are never less than cool and collected," she cut in smoothly. He smirked, noting she had referred to herself as a Malfoy woman. He wasn't oblivious to the sarcasm she put into it either, but one step at a time. "Trust me, after everything else you've sprung on me one little old witch doesn't scare me a bit."

"Good, because she scares the hell out of me," he joked, sotto voce, just before she swept up to them.

"Lady Evmira, thank you for your kind invitation, your hospitality is, as usual, impeccable." He swept her a bow of just the right depth, catching her hand to kiss the back on the way up. It was a smoother use of rigidly formal manners than she had seen from wizards of her own generation who grew up at their parents knee with them, and she had to admit to being impressed. This evening could shape up to be more interesting than she'd hoped.

"May I present my companion, Miss Hermoine Granger," expecting something along the line of a curtsey that would acknowledge her position far above that of the muggleborns, she was more than a little taken aback at the cool, but respectful nod she received, as if the little chit were openly declaring herself Evmira's equal. She considered becoming furious for a moment, then she caught sight of something she'd not expected at all.

"My dear girl, are you wearing what I think you are?" Hermoine raised one eyebrow in inquiry, and Evmira had to admit it was a neat trick. "Are those Malfoy family pieces?"

"I believe Draco mentioned that they were, yes, they are quite lovely."

"Young man!" Evmira was certain that the young wizard could not possibly know the statement that he was inadvertently making, dressing his little muggleborn fancy piece in the family heirlooms, and was about to take him to task when the look in his eyes stopped her cold. Dear Merlin, she'd forgotten those disconcerting mercury colored Malfoy eyes; they could quite drill through a person, and at the moment Draco's had gone from warm silver to freezing steel, and there was a warning in them, a cold warning that would have given even his father pause. Gods, he was his fathers son, at least in some respects, she thought. Perhaps this generation was not the evil of the last, but he had not thrown away one ounce of the families arrogance or authority either. She looked from the man to the woman again then, not caring that the silence had stretched thin, except neither of them looked at all intimidated, they had perfected the cool, expressionless demeanour that the most exclusive of the wizarding households kept as a legacy. Of course, shame and scandal aside, the Malfoy's were still one of the most exclusive families, and quite likely the richest as well. Everyone had been allowed to forget that. She suddenly chuckled aloud, seeing the game as it began to be played out, and was immensely pleased that the opening volleys were to be done here, where she could watch. She was beginning to believe that she could come to quite like this unconventional wizard and his companion if they continued in the vein they had started.

"I see this is to be the field where the battle will be engaged, hmm, young master Malfoy?" Draco allowed a small smile to play around his lips and dipped his head in barest respect to her guess.

"Can you think of a better one?" She chuckled.

"Not at all, in fact, I am most pleased to bear witness to such a fascinating play. So, do you intend to simply regain your place or are your sights set to a higher aspiration, now?"

"Why, my lady, what would give you the impression that I need to work to regain anything? My family is ever as it was, we simply have, hmm, tarnished the halo a bit." This time she laughed aloud, causing a few heads to turn in their direction.

"Tarnished the halo? Young man, if your family had a halo it was ripped off, ground to bits and scattered to the four winds two generations ago at least. Now you come in, and I quite think that at least half the pureblood families expect that you will become the new Dark Lord yourself and lead them back to power." Draco was quite taken aback by that, and Evmira shook her head.,

"You think you know what you're up against, but you do not. Come, we can escape from this lot for a chat. I'm old, and that means I can be impolite when I wish." She led the couple into a small parlour to the side of the ballroom, and cast locking and silencing charms to preserve their privacy.

"When it was first brought to my attention where the largest share of my contributions were coming from, I realized there had to have been a plot of some sort in the works." Draco shrugged.

"One can only plan for so many contingencies. There was always the risk that you would understand that the information was purposely leaked. So why did you acknowledge it at all?"

"Why not? It would add a new level of intrigue to the party, at least, and I wanted to see what game was afoot. After all, this is the first time the pureblood scion of an old family has created a reputation for himself in the Muggle world as an international playwizard with closet philanthropic ideals. The mix of recklessness and kindness has been irresistible to the press, as I am sure you planned from the beginning. The question is, what exactly do you want, Malfoy? Do you want to be accepted back into wizarding society? You could buy back your position in a week, and intimidate your way back to power in a month, we both know that."

"I am not my father." She sighed. There it was, then. She had to admit to being more than a little relieved.

"Thank Merlin for that. So what is this show for?" Draco looked hard at her, and she felt the slight crawling sensation of Legilimency. Very good, she thought, he hadn't completely given up the traits he'd need if he were going about what she suspected. The only reason she noticed it at all was because she was an accomplished Occlumens herself. This time, however, she allowed the probe, allowed him to see that she would not tolerate a return of dark wizardry, but would welcome an avenue to come about for positive changes. The exchange took less than ten seconds, and he sighed.

"The only way to cure pervasive rot is to cut it out." She nodded.

"Ah, Shackelbolt and his cronies. You want to turn the public against them, and then what? Set yourself up to be the next Minister?" He looked shocked, and she almost laughed.

"Me? Merlin forbid, I want no part of that! No, changing the Minister isn't enough, I'm afraid. There needs to be sweeping reform in the entire system. Kingsley will have to remain long enough to repeal the marriage laws, and make some other changes that will set the foundations, then he can be replaced with an elected Parliament, much like the Muggle system. It's messy, sometimes disorganized, and can cause a right mess, but it's a safer system, and it ensures that both the purebloods and the muggleborns and even squibs have the same amount of say in how society is run. That's the only fair way to do it."

"Merlins beard, boy, you certainly are not one to go lightly, are you? How did you manage to develop a conscience like this with your family history?" He snorted, and cast a glance at Hermoine, who had the grace to blush just a bit. Evmira chuckled.

"Ah, nothing like the influence of a good woman to make a male regard the world in a new way, hmm?"

"I saw enough during the war to make me vomit, the atrocities we so-called purebloods put others through was enough to sully not just our blood, but our souls for the next ten generations. Then when I was tried and my wand taken from me, and I was forbidden to use magic for ten years, I realized I would be treated even worse than a squib, so I went to the one place where a lack of magic meant nothing. It's amazing how one can learn that the only thing that separates people is a talent you are born either with or without, with no control over it yourself. It's a road I would not wish to travel again, but I would also not trade the lessons learned on it for all the galleons in Gringotts."

"Excuse me for saying this, but Ms Granger here is going to make your task ten times more difficult. You alone could regain your status relatively simply. She, on the other hand, is hated by everyone, though I suspect it is through no fault of her own. Did it not occur to you that she could be used as a focus for everyones hate and bring you to power more quickly for destroying her?" Hermoine kept the mask on, but with difficulty. She had realized how much more difficult her presence would make their task, but he refused to listen. Now this woman was suggesting he use her to climb back to power. And it made sense. She felt sick. How many more times would it have to be pointed out before he realized she wasn't worth it? He was a practical man, a great manipulator and a Slytherin, such a level of compassion was not expected. She had begun to believe they would succeed and eventually she could lead a normal life again, but hearing the woman put it all out so casually gutted her. She should have learned from the first war, there were always casualties on both sides.

Evmira watched the girl. She was good, but not good enough, not any more. Evmira could see her mind working the problem over and coming to the conclusion that she was right. And she saw acceptance. Damned Gryffindor nobility, she thought again. After all she'd already been through the girl was ready to sacrifice herself again, this time more likely in a permanent way. If she was used to bring Draco back to power, she would have to admit that everything said about her was true, and that would earn her the Kiss for sure.

"Draco, she…" she trailed off at the look in his eyes, it was the first time he had ever actually frightened her.

"Do not say one word," he ground out, furious. "Don't even attempt to convince me to do this, woman, because I will not. I will not rebuild our society on a foundation of hatred, and I will not allow every sacrifice we made in that war to go unacknowledged because of politics and power plays. We knew what this would entail before we started? I knew far better than you, actually, because I lived in this world my entire life. For once in your life, Granger, shut the hell up and let someone else be the expert!"

She sucked in a breath and her eyes fairly spat fury at him.

"Fine, you're the expert, the master of the game, the virtuoso of deceit, whatever title you want. Do it your way, by all means, after all, I suppose the great Draco Malfoy cannot help but know better than the little ignorant mudblood." She turned on one splendid heel and exited the room, closing the door with a quiet snap that nonetheless seemed to have the same effect as a slam. Draco winced, then chuckled.

"I actually believed at one point in my life that my mother employed a charm to get that particular effect. Now I see that it must be a female talent." Evmira shrugged delicately.

"I think it is quite a skill actually. I never managed to master it myself. Never could pull off the look of cold rage with my husband. Does she know what you did putting her in your family jewels?" He looked immensely satisfied.

"No, not yet, she still has some coming around to do, as you can see." She snorted.

"A bit, yes. Do you love the chit, or is this part of a deeper game?" He shook his head slowly.

"No game, I will have her as my wife eventually. She's an amazing witch, you know, she even forgave me of all my past sins, and believe me there were more than enough that needed forgiveness."

"I dare say there were. Is there really remorse there as well for your family's part in all this?" He sighed.

"Sometimes I think I will spend the rest of my life atoning for the mistakes my family has made going back to well before I was born, but that is the responsibility of the head of a house, is it not? The witch has the uncanny knack for making me want to be a better man. It's almost revolting, really. I suppose I should be appalled." Evmira shook her head in droll amusement.

"You have done well so far, but you know it's not enough to secure your position, at least not yet. You need a patron with influence. I suppose I could be prevailed upon…" she let it trail off at his radiant smile. She nearly fanned herself looking at the young Malfoy heir. No wonder he caught the eyes of the press and gossip columns already, he was, quite likely one of the most handsome wizards she had ever seen. That family had always been graced by beauty, but somehow the last of the line had managed to be blessed with far more than his fair share. The Granger girl, well, she was not beautiful in the classic sense, but there was a presence about her that demanded one look, then look again and not look away. It was fitting. They would do well.

"We need to rejoin the party. You will both be here tomorrow at three to discuss the next decisions we have to make."

"This should prove to be a quite interesting conspiracy, don't you think?" He asked, tucking her hand into the crook of her arm as the door swung open.

"Precisely. I feel younger already. Now, shall we see what the precocious Ms. Granger has been doing to my party. Let's hope she doesn't have half the guests at each others throats, I did invite quite a disparate group."


	12. Chapter 12 Opening Volley

"Well, well, well," Hermoine stiffened at the familiar voice behind her, but reminded herself that she could not, under any circumstances, do anything to embarrass Draco. She turned slowly, and smiled a smile she was certain conveyed that she was taking great pains to be polite to someone who was by no means worthy of the courtesy.

"Minister, what a pleasure. I should have realized you would be attending such a worthy function. A pleasure, as always." Kingsley heard the sweet sarcasm in her voice, and realized belatedly, that he had put himself in a position to make a very bad impression on his constituency. And it was the damned womans fault. How dared she stand there as if she deserved to be walking free, flaunting that revolting tattoo across her back? He noted that she had at least covered the Dark Mark with a pair of gloves, then noted the wand pocket along her forearm, and was infuriated further. She simply stood there, waiting for him to speak, doubtless waiting for him to make a fool of himself.

"How did you get in here, Granger?" but he suspected he knew. He scanned the ballroom for the telltale head of platinum hair, but saw nothing.

"I believe Draco is paying his respects to some acquaintances," she said, reading him easily. She wondered, now, why she had been so frightened of him when they were in the Order together. He was a bully, no better than Crabbe and Goyle had been.

"I'm surprised he would be seen with you on his arm at any wizarding function, he must be more of a fool than I thought," he said coldly. She merely raised an eyebrow as if in inquiry.

"You thought he was a fool to start with?" she made a quiet tsking sound, shaking her head. "Dear Kingsley, wasn't it you who used to tell us that you should never underestimate your opponent because of personal bias? Don't you recall all those brilliant strategy lessons you gave all of us in the Order at those meetings at Grimmauld Place?" He didn't miss how she stressed her and Malfoys membership in the Order, and he fairly saw several pairs of ears perk in her direction as she spoke. "I still recall that Christmas when Arthur was able to come home from St. Mungos and you came to visit with all of us. We were like a family." He seethed, and she showed her teeth, just a bit, but her tone had been nothing but sweetly reminiscent.

"Have you spoken to any of the old Order members lately?" he asked, trying to rattle her. He knew damned well that she hadn't talked to anyone in years, and he wanted her to admit to her eviction from the old Golden Trio. Let everyone remember that!

"I'm afraid I have been monopolizing her time rather selfishly lately, Kingsley." She didn't jump as Draco's hand pressed into the small of her back, but she leaned in to him barely enough to let him know she appreciated his arrival. "But if you would like to come to the Manor for dinner I would be happy to see how many of the old guard we can coordinate with. Just let me know your schedule and I'm sure we can work something out." The look of disgust on Shackelbolts face would have been comical if it wasn't accompanied by such fury. Realizing that he needed to cut his losses however, he began to look for a polite out.

"I'm afraid my schedule is extremely hectic," he ground. "In fact, I must be going." Draco nodded, and extended a hand.

"I completely understand, I'm sure you must be overburdened now, what with all the new decrees passed lately. Enforcement must be a nightmare. Do let me know if I can lend any assistance, my private security can be remarkably effective." He could see that Kingsley was trying to find a way to avoid shaking his hand, but not finding one. He extended his own hand reluctantly, and just as Malfoy's hand closed over his he saw the pop of a flash bulb, then the crack of apparation as the reported who snapped the picture fled before his camera could be confiscated. He swore under his breath, turning as a figure in black dress robes strode up quickly.

"Kingsley, did you see who the reporter…" the words trailed off as Hermoine and Draco came face to face with Harry Potter.

"Potter." Draco's tone was neutral, and he nodded in polite greeting, but Hermoine noted that he never took his attention off Harry's wand hand. She looked as well, and saw that it was hovering over the holster at his side. She felt the old headache start behind her eyes. Great, a Malfoy Potter pissing contest. Then she took in the look in Harry's eyes and felt real alarm.

"Malfoy. I was afraid you wouldn't have sense enough to stay out of the wizarding world. Why don't you crawl back into whatever hole you dug yourself out of and bugger off?" To her surprise Draco didn't rise to the insult, only chuckled.

"I see you haven't lost any of that Griffyndor bluntness Potter, how refreshing. But how could I refuse to attend such an important event for a cause that has become so important to me over the years?" Harry scoffed.

"The only cause you support is the cause of buying your way back into polite society, you bastard."

"Harry," Hermoine started to admonish, but he cut her a look that was so filled with venom and revulsion that she choked on the words.

"You don't need to even speak to me, you traitorous bitch," he spat. Kingsley began to look uncomfortable. Baiting Granger and Malfoy tactfully was one thing, hurling insults in the middle of a crowded ballroom was simply bad press. He placed a hand on Harry's arm, gauging the amount of red flecks showing in Potters eyes. He wasn't over the edge yet, he thought, but it wasn't far, and he really did not want to have to attempt to deal with an incident.

"Harry, looks like you might have had a few too many toasts tonight, hmmm? Old rivalries get a bit hotter when there is whiskey involved. Let's say our goodnights, hmmm?" Harry twitched and Kingsley's hand was thrown off him without even a glance.

"You're out of line, Potter. Apologize to Hermoine, she doesn't deserve your contempt." Draco's voice was icy. Harry laughed aloud, and heads turned to watch, a buzz slowly going through the room as the people realized who the two men were.

"I have no reason to apologize to anyone," Harry hissed. "Don't think I haven't seen the two of you cavorting around the world, trying to buy your way back to popularity, like anyone is going to forget what you are. And she," he jerked his head to Hermoine. "should know that when you like down with dogs you get up with fleas. You'd know that well, wouldn't you, Hermoine? First Snape, now Malfoy? Are you sure Voldemort wasn't in there somewhere, you do certainly seem to have a thing for Dark Wizards." Hermoine paled, her composure faltering, and she felt bile rise in her throat. This was not the Harry she knew. This vicious man was a stranger, a cruel, hateful man with a twist in his eyes that was not normal. She edged closer to Draco, and he squeezed her hip reassuringly.

"Potter, I will give you one warning, and one only," he spat coldly. "Do not speak to Hermoine in such a way ever again, or I swear to you I will call you out formally, and that you do not want." Harry laughed, but it was a high, strange sound.

"Call me out? You? What could _I _possibly ever have to fear from _you_?"

"Keep going and find out," Draco offered, and Hermoine caught a breath as she saw an odd silver glow begin to tint his eyes. She'd never seen anything like it, and found it deeply unnerving.

"That will be quite enough of that, I think. Mr Potter, I will not tolerate discourtesy in my home, and I especially will not tolerate violence in _any_ form. You will both apologize this instant!" Evmira's tiny five foot frame barely came to either man's shoulder, but Draco stepped back immediately, nodding politely to her.

"Of course, Lady Pettiwig, my deepest apologies for casting a pall over this evening," he said smoothly. Her eyes twinkled briefly at him before turning to Harry. She looked at the young Auror with the same stare she had been using on young upstarts for the past eighty years, and was confronted with, nothing. His eyes were empty, as though he was made of nothing but rage and power. She nearly flinched, watching the red flecks in his irises start to pulse in time with his heartbeat. It was, well, it was terrifying. Kingsley swore under his breath and caught Harrys arm. It was about to turn and he couldn't allow that, not now.

"I'm afraid that Potter has been under a great deal of stress lately," he cut in, thrusting Harry almost bodily back. When the younger man made as if to protest Kingsley shot him a look that promised retribution in spades if he opened his mouth. Slowly the red began to subside and Harry seemed to come back to himself. "I should not have insisted he attend. He's long overdue for a break, the load we place on him I know is quite unfair. I will see he gets home safely and takes a few days off." Evmira nodded slowly, allowing Kingsley to fairly drag Potter out of the room, and then there was a faint crack of apparation as Harry apparated away. Draco only relaxed when he was sure he was gone, then shot a speaking glance at Hermoine.

"We need to talk later," he said quietly. "Are you all right?" she nodded.

"He didn't touch me, just insulted me." He sighed.

"Good. We need to shake it off now, and make the rounds. With that display the room has turned to us, we can't waste the opportunity." She blinked a few times, and when he looked at her again her perfect mask was back in place. He wanted to snog her senseless right there for her strength; instead he simply tucked her hand back into his elbow and smiled at a wizard he recognized as a popular rock star, allowing the man to draw them into conversation.

They stayed for another few hours, making gracious conversation and excusing Harrys behavior with almost royal noblesse oblige, but Hermoine couldn't get the memory of his eyes out of her mind, the flecks of red. She'd only seen that once before, and hoped she would never see it again. Those eyes had been pervasive, glowing red, but she imagined this was how it started, just flecks at first, progressing until there was nothing of the original color left. She shivered, and he felt it, pulling her just a little closer.


	13. Chapter 13 Heads up While Heading Out

"Mr. Malfoy, there is an Auror here to see you." He looked up from the report he had been perusing and frowned. It had been inevitable, and he would just bet he knew who the Auror would be, too. After the almost scene at the Emira Pettiwig's he knew Potter must be spoiling for payback, and now that the press wasn't around Shackelbolt would give him the nod to do as he wished. That was fine, he'd been completely aboveboard in all his business dealings, they had absolutely nothing on him and they both knew damned well this was nothing but a harassment call.

"I suppose kicking an Auror out on his arse wouldn't garner me any favor with the Ministry," he sighed, "so you might as well show him in, Gallenfeld. But make sure I have another appointment scheduled within fifteen minutes in case he should, decide to run long."

"Of course, sir," the man nodded. Having been the personal secretary of Lucius Malfoy before his son, he could vouch that Draco was the far more reasonable employer, and did not have a tendency to hex his staff when they disappointed him as his father had done.

He nodded at the young Auror, giving him his best disdainful glare, and turning his nose up at the strong aroma of Firewhiskey that followed him.

"Weasley." Draco wrinkled his nose at the reek of alcohol. "Gods, you smell like you climbed into a bottle last Tuesday and just emerged. Actually, you look about like it, too. Obviously the Ministry has significantly lowered their standards over the past ten years. I must say if you and Potter were accepted, I can't be too surprised." He had to admit that twitting the Weasel now was just as much fun as it had been in school so long ago. He watched the flush of red creep up his nemesis neck, and decided to prod just a bit more. "And speaking of Potter, where is your boyfriend? I can't imagine you'd walk straight into my den without him. Surely you fear I'll hex you into the next life." To his surprise the Weasel visibly fought down his irritation and rubbed a hand over his face.

"I don't suppose you could cease being a prat long enough to have a civil conversation just this once," he said tiredly. Surprised, Draco raised an eyebrow, but motioned him to continue.

"Say what you have to and pray you aren't wasting my time, I have a lot of work to do today. Still, I would like to know where Potter is, I know you lot always travel in pairs; it would be most unfortunate if I found him snooping in places he need not be."

"Harry doesn't know I'm here, this isn't Ministry business. Trust me, if he thought for a moment I was here talking to you he'd probably arrest me himself."

"Then why are you here? I'm sure it's not from any sort of sense of nostalgia, especially if Potter would really have the reaction you seem to think he would."

"Oh, he would, trust me," Ron sighed. "Look, I'm taking a risk being here at all, Malfoy but the fact is, I just don't give a good gods damn anymore. It's all gone cock up, the whole bloody place, and, never mind, look, suffice it to say I'm here to give you a heads up, alright?"

"You're giving me a warning? Pray tell, do go on."

"Harry plans to use Hermoine to get to you." Draco stiffened and was suddenly focused.

"Go on." Ron nodded.

"Thought that might get your attention. Harry isn't the same bloke he used to be. After the war he got more and more obsessed with rooting out Death Eaters, criminals, it was like he was going to personally make sure no one dared commit a crime ever again. But it started to go overboard. They legalized using the Cruciatus against suspects, then before we realized it we were bloody torturing people for information. I watched as Harry performed the Cruciatus on a seven year old girl to make her parents give up information. I should've done something, hell, I tried, but he pulled his wand on me, his best mate. His eyes have started to turn red, too."

"I know. I'm sure you heard of the incident at the war orphans benefit." At the Weasels blank stare he rolled his eyes.

"Honestly Weasley, do you even read the papers? Potter accosted and insulted Hermoine cruelly, then came bloody close to starting a duel right there on the ballroom floor."

"Bloody hell. No one's even mentioned it at the office, and I know Kingsley said Harry was on sabbatical for a few days. Nobody questioned it, after all, it was Harry, and to be perfectly honest he's started making people nervous. It's a relief to have him out for a while." Draco had to admit to being shocked by Weasley's tale. He'd never liked Potter, of course, probably because of his father at first, but later because he just found the holier-than-thou trio annoying as hell, but he'd never ever thought that he'd see the day when Potter would turn dark. Torturing innocents for information, pulling his wand on his best friend, that signaled a descent into a kind of madness Draco had seen way too much of.

"And now you're saying he wants to use her to get to me?" Ron nodded.

"He's convinced you've some plot in the works. He doesn't know what it is, but he's spent a few months now gathering every bit of information he can on you, tracing galleons because he says that's the surest way of discovering what someone like you is up to."

"And he hasn't found anything because there's nothing to find, but he won't believe it."

"About that, yeah. And for the record, I'm fairly certain you are up to something as well, you are a Malfoy after all, but the fact is I don't give a damn what it is. All I ask is that you don't get Hermoine involved, Malfoy, she's been hurt enough, and a lot of that is our fault. We should have stuck by her instead of letting Kingsley and his boys talk us into cutting her off."

"Of course you bloody damned well should have!" Ron jerked at the furious agreement, his eyes meeting the hard steel of his enemies. Then his eyes narrowed, and he really looked at Draco for a full minute before nodding.

"You know, regardless of what we have or haven't done, being an Auror teaches you things about people, gives you some rather interesting skills."

"Your point?" Ron took a half step back, and gave him a considering look, and for the first time Draco noticed that Weasley really had aged, and there was a wealth of weariness in his eyes. He felt an involuntary frisson of understanding. It was highly distasteful.

"I think you really love her." Of everything he could have said that was the one that caught Draco completely off guard and he had to turn his head to keep Weasley from seeing whatever was in his eyes. "Don't mate, it's been a bloody long time, none of us are the same people we were back then. I mean, of course I'm sure you're still an arrogant git," Draco surprised him with a reluctant chuckle, and nod.

"And you're still a bloody holier than thou Weasel. Can you still ride a broom, Weasley, or has the drink pickled you too badly?" Ron flushed.

"I deserved that, I suppose. I've known for quite a while that I was drinking too much, but it was the only thing that made going in there day after day bearable. It helped me avoid going on assignment with Harry, too. I suppose you think that's the cowards way out."

"I know you're no match for him with a wand." Ron snorted at the understatement.

"Is there anyone left alive who is? Hell, that's part of the reason I haven't gone to Kingsley. Even if he wanted to control Harry I don't think he could. And to be honest I don't think he wants to; they feed off each others paranoia."

"Why didn't you leave?"

"And go where? There aren't a lot of legal private jobs for ex-Aurors, the only things I know how to do fairly well are catching criminals and playing Quidditch. Besides, if I left for a lesser position there would be suspicion and probably repercussions. Ginny has children, Harry's children."

"I see." And sadly he thought he did see, all too well. Draco debated for long moments, then sighed. "Regardless of the past, I'm grateful that you had the guts to come to me. I'll put watchers on her; Potter won't have an excuse to come near her."

"Things have changed around here, Malfoy. Aurors don't need a real reason to take someone in for questioning now; suspicion is enough. If Hermoine knows what you're up to he'll get it out of her. He's dangerous, and I, dammit, I don't trust him not to do something beyond forgiving anymore. He knows whatever he does Kingsley will sweep it under the rug."

"This is not what I needed." Ron heard the harried mutter and frowned.

"Don't underestimate him, seriously. He's become a lot more accomplished and well, you haven't held a wand in a decade."

"I can take care of myself, though your concern is, surprising. Thank you," his mouth twisted around the words, as though tasting something sour. "For being concerned about Hermoine, even if it is a sadly late attempt." He seemed to consider something for a long moment, then dropped his shoulders in resignation. "Look, if you're serious about wanting out, and you can still sit a broom without being half pickled in whiskey I know that the Harriers are looking for a backup Keeper." He took a card from his desk and handed it over. "This will get you a tryout, nothing more. If you're shite, that's too bad. If you're still as good as you were in school, well, you might just have a shot."

"And why would a semi-professional Quidditch team give me a tryout on your say-so?" Ron asked, taking the card nonetheless.

"It's reasurring to know that you are still at least somewhat as clueless as you used to be, Weasley, otherwise the world might have changed too much for me to stand. Malfoy Industries owns the team, you dolt. Now get out before I have to acknowledge that you aren't a total prat. That might possibly make me vomit." Ron tucked the card into his jacket pocket and nodded.

"Ask Hermoine if she'd be willing to talk to me, will you? I'd like the chance to apologize." He sighed roughly and shook his head. "And for the record, I think I've grown beyond schoolyard rivalry, and maybe you have too. Is it enough? Can we finally put this bloody misery to rest?" Not trusting himself not to cock it up if he tried to speak, Draco simply offered his hand. The two men shook hands, and there was a crack, not unlike the sound of apparation, and red and green light swirled around their hands and dissipated.

"Bloody hell." Ron looked at his hand and chuckled. "My dad is about certain to be pissed about this."

"About what?" Draco was rubbing his hand on his suit coat, trying to dispel the weird crawling sensation.

"I think we just ended a seven hundred year blood feud, mate." Draco, looked up, nonplussed.

"We, what, that's all it took? Just agreeing not to hate each other anymore? Honestly, if that was all why did it take bloody seven hundred years?" Ron chuckled.

"You know, mate, that statement convinces me more than anything else that you might not be an utter bastard anymore. I'll see you around then, yeah?"

Draco felt a most unwelcome smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Not if I see you first, Weasel." Ron grinned in return.

"Fine then, you bloody Ferret, so be it." He walked out of the office chuckling, and Draco dropped back into his seat, a contemplative expression on his face.


	14. Chapter 14 Precautions

Hermoine glanced at Draco over her section of The Daily Prophet.

"Did you hear Ronald Weasley just quit the Aurors to play second string Keeper with the Harriers?" He didn't raise his head from the business section, merely grunted.

"Really? I didn't think you really followed Quidditch, especially the semi professional teams."

"I don't, I happened to be talking to Arthur over the floo. He mentioned that you and Ronald had managed to inadvertently end the blood feud, and get him a tryout. I wonder how that conversation came about."

"Weasley was always a decent player, and I imagine the tricks he learned in Auror school must have served decently well. At least that's one annoying part of the puzzle we no longer have to deal with."

"True enough. I don't suppose you would like to tell me what you and he were together talking about in the first place?"

"Not especially, no."

She slapped the paper out from in front of his face and drummed her fingers on the table. "Out with it." He sighed.

"Must we have this conversation now?"

"We must unless you want to find those ever so unobtrusive bodyguards that have been following me the last four days in a heap in the foyer with an entanglement charm on them so strong they won't get up for a week."

"Dammit."

"Really, I was a spy too Draco, I know when I'm being followed." He set the paper down with a snap and carefully placed his glasses on top of it, glaring at her. She glared right back.

"It's for your own protection. The Aurors have been talking about bringing you in for questioning." She snorted inelegantly.

"So what? Let them question me, we haven't done anything wrong or remotely illegal." He slammed a hand down on the tabletop, and Hermoine's eyes widened as, unconsciously aided by magic, the force of it cracked the thick wood. He looked down and cursed quietly, his jaw muscles jumping. Taking a deep breath he passed a hand over the table and the crack repaired itself seamlessly. "Hermoine, this isn't some little interview where they stick you in a room and try to trip you up verbally. This is true interrogation."

"You can't tell me they're using Veritaserum, that's ridiculous, it would be prohibitively expensive, not to mention being a complete breach of wizards rights."

"No, they're not using Veritaserum, they're using torture," he said bluntly. "They're doing openly in the Aurors now, and it's approved by the Ministry. That's why Weasley came to see me, to warn me that he, they are going to try to get to me through you." Her eyes narrowed and he knew he hadn't covered his slip well enough.

"You said he, Draco. Who? Shackelbolt? Grimsley? Brown?" He hadn't even heard of the last two and wondered for a moment what she'd done to antagonize them before deciding that was probably something he didn't want to know at all but would have to find out about later, just in case.

"No, not them. For the love of Merlin, Hermoine, think about it. Why would Weasley come to me, of all people?" Her face fell, and he knew she knew, but hadn't wanted to believe it.

"It's Harry, isn't it? Ron knew I wouldn't want to believe it, so he went to you." He shrugged.

"What did you expect after the ball? You still believe too much in some people, love." She raised her head, and he saw the disillusion in her eyes.

"You might as well tell me the rest of it." He spoke steadily for several minutes, not attempting to embellish or detract from the story Ron had told him, or his own observations during the meeting. She listened, and he wasn't surprised when he saw her tears, but he didn't try to comfort her either. This was a hard lesson to learn, he was fortunate, he had learned it when he was barely able to walk, she had maintained her illusions for far too long. As he finished telling her the last he held up a hand and a thick file settled onto it. She was becoming so used to his casual magic that her eyes didn't even alight on it until he handed it to her.

"I will admit, I wasn't even sure that it could be quite as bad as Weasley made it out to be, so I had a bit of independent investigation done. You might want to skip the photos and just read the report. It's not pretty."

"I need to know all of it. I need to see if there is any way to get him back, if it's a spell, or maybe a Dark artifact…" she was grasping at straws and she knew it. Worse, she knew he knew it, too.

"It's not love, not in that way at least. I know about the Horcrux hunt the three of you went on in seventh year. You thought the last one was Nagini, the snake, yes?" She nodded, but he only shook his head.

"So did He, at first. But everyone was wrong. Harry was the last one, that's why his body had to die, at least for a short time, to sever the connection between his soul and Voldemorts. Dumbledore suspected that it might be something like that, so did Severus. The thing is, any object that is used for a Dark purpose can begin to take on the Dark itself. Hence the cursed ring that was slowly killing Dumbledore. The irony is, by the time Harry became the last of the Horcruxes Riddle didn't even realize what happened, there was so little of his soul left. But that kind of Dark leaves a mark far deeper than any tattoos you and I carry."

"So you think living his whole life as a sentient Horcrux…"

"It corrupted him, yes. Maybe if he hadn't become an Auror it would have been slower, or maybe not happened at all, I don't know. Riddle was furious when he found out. He had been planning to take a new body shortly, one better suited to his new plans. That delay while he planned to resolve the Harry situation was the lull where I told the Order they had to attack." Her eyes widened in understanding. No one had understood at the time why Draco had so heatedly insisted that they attack, they were not dug in or prepared properly, but he had said the Dark Lord would be more distracted then than any other time and they had trusted him. And Voldemort had been killed. It astonished her still that even after all that he had been punished.

"Is there more? Is part of Riddle still in him?" He shook his head, relieved that she had taken that tack with her questions.

"No, the soul fragment truly is gone, it was left in the void where it belongs. It just doesn't matter all that much anymore, Harry has embraced the Dark it left behind."

"That's why Ginny left him," she said woodenly. "She said Harry hit her. I tried to think maybe thy just got into one of their worse rows and it escalated, but it didn't, did it?" He shook his head.

"It started like that, as do most things, but the records from St Mungo's show it was most of a year before she became frightened that he would start on the children and left with them. Concussions, broken wrist, broken jaw, broken ribs twice; it's so easy to do," he said reflectively. "When you have so much power, and so much anger, you lash out and you don't realize how hard you hit until it's too late. And the worst part is, when it releases all that anger it feels so good, so freeing, you don't realize that what you did is wrong unless you force yourself to really look at your actions. Do you know how hard it is to learn remorse?" She shook her head, fascinated at the small look she was getting into the mindset of a true Dark Wizard before his redemption.

"Was it so difficult? Didn't you have any empathy for those you hurt?" he looked far away.

"No, not really. It wasn't about them, you see, it was about me. I was the only thing that mattered. Everyone else was just pawns. As long as I felt good I didn't see the problem."

"When did it change?" he chuckled sardonically.

"Oddly enough, it started when a certain unsufferable know it all cast a reversion charm on me in fourth year right before Christmas holiday." She gasped, remembering that charm. She had been so furious with him as he reduced a group of second years to tears with his damned sarcastic mouth. She hadn't even thought about what to hex him with, it had just come out. She had cast a hex that allowed him to experience the exact emotions and physical symptoms he engendered in his victims. It was a damned complex piece of magic, and wickedly effective. "It made me see, in the most basic way, how what I said and did effected others. It was more than sobering. It took a long time, a lot of introspection and some fairly heavy research, but slowly I developed remorse, then a conscience, and when that was fully formed, that's when I realized that I couldn't ever really be a Death Eater. That's the night I went to Dumbledore and begged for a way out."

"A way that you never really got, did you?" he shrugged.

"It was atonement, wasn't it? I deserved that and more. But that's neither here nor there now. We were talking about Potter. I think he has begun the reverse of the journey I went on. He began to stop caring, and now enjoys what he does as a release of whatever is festering inside him. If you ask me that's a harder one to cure. I did what I did because I didn't understand what it did to others. He does it with the full knowledge of it and either doesn't care, or actually likes it."

"In other words, he's gone mad." He shook his head.

"No love, he's perfectly rational, if you think anything else you will underestimate him completely. He's simply changed."

"But if he wants me, he'll simply come and take me in and to hell with your bully boys, so what's the point?"

"Eye witnesses and a warning system," he said. "I have to know when he makes his move so I can come for you. I might be the only one who is willing to fight him."

"He'll kill you. You were evenly matched in school, and you've been out of it for ten years while he's been fighting almost constantly, how could you possibly beat him now?" He debated for a moment. If he told her then he would lose the final secret he had. If he didn't she would have no way to sleep soundly at night. He would tell her what she needed to hear, he thought, anything else was dangerous.

"Moine, I know you and he were mates back then, and you believed he was practically a god. He was the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the walking miracle, the salvation of the wizarding world. But the fact is a prophecy does not a cunning wizard make. He is strong, I grant you, perhaps even stronger than Dumbledore, though without the experience. But he still lacks subtlety, and he's not sneaky enough. He also can't use wandless magic from what I have seen, in fact I don't know that he realizes it can exist in a higher form. That sort of ignorance makes him weak. The element of surprise is an incredible advantage, as is the fact that you are never restrained to the point that you can't cast."

She had seen him in battle, seen him throw curses that no one recognized afterward, but the results of which were, vile. It seemed that there was more than one sort of killing curse in the world, the only differences were how long it took death to come and how painful it was. She suspected he knew far more than he had ever showed anyone, even Voldemort. Curses likely learned at his fathers knee. Years ago she would have been appalled at his ability and willingness to kill. Now it simply made her feel safe. Still…

"Just promise me you won't kill him, Draco. He's sick, but he's still Harry."

"No." His reply was flat, cold, and steady. "He is dangerous and if it comes down to killing him to protect you he's a dead man."

"Draco, dammit, they'll give you the Kiss!"

"I think not. Precautions have already been taken for certain circumstances like this. It's under control."

"I hate it when you make pronouncements like that."

"You would like it far less, I think, if I decided to share the details of these precautions with you either beforehand or informed you when not necessary. You will have to learn to trust me eventually."

"I do trust you, that is not the point." He smiled, and she cursed under her breath. "Yes, I trust you. You needn't be so smug about it. You trust me as well."

"Mmmm, but I have far more reason than you do. If I can make even you trust me the rest of the world cannot be far behind."


	15. Chapter 15 Latin Practice

"Did you know that spells cast in Parselmouth work just as well as regular spoken spells?" Harry twirled his wand, watching it spark with uncontrolled magic, fascinated as the colors changed from gold to red to black.

"Of course they do, it is just another language, after all." He scowled at the speaker, then turned back to admiring his wand. It was now leaving trails of blackness in the air; it almost looked as if it were tearing little holes in reality itself. Amazing. "Have you used the new spell yet?" he looked up, then back down. He didn't like looking at that face, there were too many horrible memories attached to it, but it was useful to have him alive, he'd given them so much. Harry laughed. There really was no such thing as loyalty, only self preservation, and this one knew all about that.

"I saw someone interesting the other night." The man stiffened.

"So I saw in the papers. That display was, unwise." Harry snarled and the red flecks in his eyes flashed.

I'm tired of having every bloody move I make reported in the damned paper. I told Kingsley years ago we should put it under Ministry control, or just shut it down. It causes more problems than it's worth."

"It's too soon for that. I told all of you when we started that this was a long game to play. You Griffyndors have never had patience to allow things to come to fruition on their own. That is why you fail."

"Fail? How is it we failed again? I seem to recall that Voldemort is dead, the Death Eaters are scattered, at least those that survived."

"Yes, and what are you left with? A rudderless ship. Say what you will about the Dark Lord, there would have been no void of power with his ascencion."

"He was mad." Another nod of acknowledgement.

"Quite so. We would have bided our time until he could be replaced with someone more powerful. Did you ever consider that could be why we made no attempts on you when you were growing up? We knew the prophecy, we knew the Dark Lord would fall, that was not the concern, the concern was who would rise to take his place. You, fool boy, could have done it, but no, you turned your back on power. What a shame. So much potential, so utterly wasted."

"Yes, but I'm not a pureblood, now am I?"

"Bah, He was only a halfblood himself. It was the power he held that made him accepted. At least both of your parents were wizards, his father was a true Muggle."

"I remember, long ago I was given a choice. Did you know, all those years ago at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin? I asked it to put me in Griffyndor. I was young, and frightened, Griffyndor looked so much easier." The other man thought for a long few minutes then chuckled.

"Now that would have been interesting, would it not? I can only imagine the relief in that fool Dumbledors mind when he realized he would not be fighting for your heart and mind. Now come, you wanted to learn this spell so pay attention. Your Latin is barbarous, but it might suffice eventually." Harry began to repeat the chant in Latin, the tip of his wand pulsing luridly as he practiced.


	16. Chapter 16 Meetings and Unbreakable Glas

"This meeting has never taken place, you do understand that, do you not?" Rita Skeeter had never been intimidated by much of anyone in her life, but the look in Draco Malfoy's eyes promised things she wasn't at all willing to risk if the agreement was not forthcoming. Still…

"Well, if that's the case, why am I here?" She poised her Quick Quotes Quill over a piece of parchment with a smile. He simply stared at the Quill, and in a moment it stiffened then shattered over the page. She gasped, and looked at him with true concern now.

"You are here to get a very hot exclusive, Ms. Skeeter, and if you play your cards right there will be a book, probably two, in it for you as well. You will make an amazing amount of Galleons, and your fame will be absolutely secure. If, however, you give in to your rather nasty penchant for indiscretion and scandal I can assure you the loss of the money will be the least of your worries." She noted an Unbreakable Glass Terrarium sitting on his desk with some sort of exotic looking lizard in it. He noted where her gaze had fallen and smiled fondly at the creature.

"He's quite rare, you know, a species that only exists in a certain valley in Tanzania. His skin can of course change color to match his surroundings, as with most in that genus, but he also has the uncanny ability to project spines through his skin for protection, and they are quite toxic, hence the Unbreakable Glass, wouldn't want him loose about the place. Do excuse me for a moment, won't you?" he stepped to a sideboard and took a vial, tapping it with his wand, then strode back and dumped the contents into the lizards habitat. Several beetles cascaded down, and the lizard whipped about, catching the first one in its mouth with an eager crunch.

"Feeding time you know. Now, where were we?" She looked into his mercury eyes; there was no expression there, no threat, no emotion of any kind. She shuddered slightly and found her gaze drawn to the lizard again.

"I believe I understand perfectly Mr. Malfoy. What story did you wish to discuss?"

_**Traitor Death Eaters Memory Vials Recovered!**_

The headline screamed on the front of the Daily Prophet, not only above the fold, but at the top of the page. Hermoine frowned, sipping her cup of coffee, browsing down through the story.

_Responding to recent rumors abounding in certain Ministry circles, an investigation was recently conducted at abandoned Order of the Phoenix Headquarters, Grimmauld Place in London. What the Ministry was hoping to find in the Order records is unknown, but a discovery made at the site by this reporter has raised several questions about the version of events leading to the Final Battle that were released by the Ministry ten years ago. _

_The discovery, made by the Prophet's own correspondent, Rita Skeeter, was a cask containing several bottled memories, which, upon further investigation, belonged to Professor Severus Snape, erstwhile Hogwarts Professor and proclaimed Death Eater, who fell at the Final Battle. Ministry statements at the time implicated Snape in the conspiracy to assassinate former Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Albus Dumbledore, a charge that was later dropped for lack of evidence. Snape was also said by the Ministry to have been a Death Eater for over twenty years; but, in a plea agreement with the Ministry agreed to assist in the downfall of the Dark Lord in exchange for a lighter sentence. While such an agreement seemed plausible at the time, the memories uncovered at the site tell a different story. _

_This reporter was moved to tears watching a memory of Professor Snape approaching Albus Dumbledore, pain of conscience on his face, asking to change sides, unable to live with what he had been forced to do in service of the Dark Lord. In a shocking revelation, we find that Snape began to spy for the Order of the Phoenix nearly __**seventeen years prior to the final battle!∫**_

_Ministry officials have refused comment on this discovery, but the questions continue. Why did the Ministry conceal the actions of this brave agent? What other statements were made in the aftermath of battle that can be questioned? There are still many hours of memories that must be evaluated before the complete truth is revealed, and readers can look forward to being updated frequently as the story plays out. _

The by-line was, of course, Rita Skeeter. Hermoine allowed the paper to drop from nerveless fingers, she stomach roiling. Stored Pensieve memories? She had had no idea anything like that even existed. And why had the Ministry been tearing Grimmauld Place apart again? Though abandonded and partially destroyed by a Death Eater assassination attempt on Harry a few weeks after the final battle, she had believed all the pertinent information removed years ago by the ministry themselves. Now she wondered. Had they simply taken what they thought they could use and left the rest, content that they could give whatever statement they liked? Were there records there that would have exonerated Severus, Draco and herself before any of it ever became an issue. She wanted to vomit.

Draco walked into the dining room at that moment and looked from the newspaper to her stricken face. She didn't notice the momentary look of regret cross his features before he knelt beside her chair, pulling her into his arms.

"I'm sorry love, it had to be a shock, I know." She pulled away after a moment, fighting back tears.

"It might have all been avoided. The bastards! If they had found all of it, if they'd really looked, it all might have been different!" He shushed her softly, his expression pensive over her head. She might have been correct, he acknowledged inwardly, had the cask truly been in Grimmauld Place as Skeeter had thought, but it had not. It had been secreted in a secret room in the tiny lab Severus had kept in his childhood home in Spinners End. Eli, Severus house elf had discovered the cask, as well as a stack of journals less than six months previously when the enchantment hiding the small cupboard finally faded. It was a testament to Severus power as a wizard that the wards had taken so long to fade, and Draco was extremely grateful to Eli for bringing them to him as Severus closest relation of any kind. He had bound the elf to Malfoy Manor in gratitude, after, in deference to Hermoine's strange notions on the subject, asking the elf if he would prefer to take clothes and gain his freedom. Eli had been appalled at the very notion, insisting that he would work for the young master if he liked, having no master any longer. Draco's offer to bind him was, to the house elf, more like an adoption into a new family, and he was happy to grant it. Malfoy Manor was a nightmare of upkeep, and Voldemort had dwindled their staff quite a bit in fits of temper, beheading elves simply for the enjoyment of it.

He had, of course, reviewed all the memories himself before planting them for the reporter to find, giving her the tip that would lead her to them, and instructing her in no uncertain terms in how they would be handled. Hermoine's disclosure to him of her unregistered animagus form had given him the perfect leverage to keep her in line, the threat of his new pet a far more effective leash on the vicious bitch than turning her in to the Ministry would ever be. It helped that he had no problem whatsoever in carrying out the implied threat, and she was perceptive enough to realize it.

He was still reading through the journals before allowing them to be found in a similarly obscure place. Rita would then have the material for her first book, and Severus, Hermoine, and his own reputation would be salvaged. Well, mostly at any rate. No one would take especially kindly to Hermoine's affair with Snape, he was still her professor at the time, and while the wizarding world had no problem with the significant age difference, after all, when one normally lived to be nearly two hundred, one tended to take the long view, and twenty years seemed quite paltry in the grand scheme of things. That more than anything was why the rules governing students and teachers were so strict. Wizards and witches tended to mature quickly and marry young. If such liaisons were permitted it could cause bloody havoc in a system that had been stable for over a thousand years.

Hopefully the extenuating circumstances would play in their favor, as would the fact that he was fairly certain that Hermoine had been the major aggressor in that arrangement. He knew his godfather well enough to know that he would have pined for her forever rather than make the first move. That was providing Hermoine would talk to the press about it later. He was certain she would come around to it, though, if only to shift the blame onto her own shoulders.

She shifted on his shoulder and he frowned at the guilt churning his stomach. He knew bloody well this had to be done, but her fight to hold back tears upset him far more than he would have liked. Certainly he cared for her, and was extremely possessive of her, but this guilt smacked of weakness he could still not afford. He sighed.

"Love, it's better it come out, you know that," he said, trying to distract her. She nodded, a finally a tear fell.

"I know, but he would be so humiliated! He was such a private person and to have his thoughts on display for _that woman_!" she shuddered.

"If it brought the truth into the open her would have done it."

"Bollocks. He would have sneered at the entire Ministry and told them to believe as they liked and bugger off." That startled a laugh from him and he could only nod.

"If it were only effecting him, yes, that is exactly what he would have done, but Skeeter said she is only partway through all the memories. If that's the case I am betting she's already viewed every single one and is simply working on the best angle to present the rest of what she saw. That woman loves nothing better than scandal, and the Ministry is a ripe target. She would make every Death Eater that ever walked look like a sad, targeted minority if it would sell more papers. And if she's already taking his case I would put as many Galleons as you like on the idea that she is going to make the Ministry into the villains. They have, after all, been censoring the press for quite a while. She should have quite the axe to grind."

His words were damn near prophetic. After two more revealing articles, Kingsley called in a favor and had the story squelched at the Prophet, only to have it taken up and continued the very next day by the Quibbler.

Severus, Draco and Hermoine's roles in the war were featured prominently, with the descriptions of the tortures they received at Voldemorts hands related in such detailed language that many people could not find the stomach to read the articles at table.

Wisely, he and Hermoine avoided the press during the run of the serial, Hermoine's haunted looks and his own closed, stiff expression in photos caught by paparazzi photographers spinning stories of them suffering through reliving the memories, and being unable to stand to comment on them. Even he could not believe the level of change in their standing that those few stories created, doors that had remained all but sealed to them with influential muggleborns reluctantly opening enough to finally speak. And once that happened Draco found, to his surprise, that he only had to be honest. Apparently he really had changed that much, he thought with some bemusement.


	17. Chapter 17 Headmistress

Apparently being accosted in his office by old enemies who decided to show up without appointments was the new vogue thing, Draco thought sourly as his assistant hesitantly announced the arrival of Professor Minerva McGonagall, now Headmistress of Hogwarts. He looked down at his schedule, and chuckled inwardly when he noted that his work schedule was actually far less packed then his social schedule. Malfoy Industries had been mostly running itself for many years, and the staff was still just as competent as they had been. Most of his time was spent with the Muggle side of the business, it seemed that if he didn't keep a hard eye on it half the R&D team tried to blow up the lab daily.

He'd already been through two conference calls, and emailed at least five memos to his various department heads there, finding that they were finally gaining substantial progress in several of the more promising medical experiments, and adapting certain magics to be contained within objects so they could be utilized in the Muggle sectors without breaking the Wizarding Secrets laws. He found it more than a little amusing that he was now actually more comfortable with email, fax and telephone than he was with owl and parchment.

He sighed in resignation finally, seeing there was no valid reason to refuse to see McGonagall, and motioned his secretary to let her in, instructing tea, ginger biscuits and an extremely old bottle of firewhiskey to be brought in ten minutes. Unlike the Weasel, Draco held no particular antipathy to the Headmistress. By all reports she had done a most excellent job, something he was not surprised about in the least. She was a superlative educator, and while she did hold an unreasonable love of Griffyndor house, well, there were very few Headmasters who didn't show a marked preference for their own former Houses.

She swept into his office, robes swirling around her ankles, and he politely stood, shaking her hand and inviting her to a seat across from his desk.

"Headmistress, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" She snorted good naturedly, and set her hat to the side, her penetrating blue eyes skewering him, and he had a flashback of all the times she'd fixed him with that same look during his school years. My Gods she'd been terrifying, not that he'd let on to it one iota, he thought.

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm sure you have guessed this isn't exactly a social call." He inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"I wouldn't imagine why it would be, given our shared past, so shall I start glaring down my nose and spouting nonsense about the way you are running the school now, or would you prefer to cue me on when my tirade should start?" She blinked twice in surprise and then chuckled richly.

"My goodness, if I'd had my eyes closed I would swear I was talking to the son of Severus Snape, not Lucius Malfoy. You certainly did inherit your godfathers talent for sarcasm, didn't you?"

"I shouldn't think that cutting through the preliminaries can really be counted as sarcasm, especially up to the level Severus was able to manage. The man raised snarkiness to a high art form."

"He did indeed. Would it surprise you to know that I do miss him still? He was a hard man, but he deserved far better than he got. I was very angry at Albus for what he put him through for so many years. It was a terrible burden for one man to bear alone."

"You knew? Of course you did, that's why you lobbied so hard for his name to be cleared," he nodded. "I will say I was surprised to learn that you succeeded. Hermoine told me about the campaign you waged to have it done."

"It was the right thing to do. And now, young man, I need you to shoulder your responsibilities as well. Honestly I am quite surprised that I have not seen you at any of the Governors meetings already." Draco was completely nonplussed.

"Governor's meetings? Why the bloody hell would I…." he trailed off, then shook his head. "It's an inherited position, not an elected one, isn't it?" She smiled then, just a bit.

"You didn't realize, then, well, I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose, you were still quite young." His jaw clenched and he saw her gaze soften.

"I am sorry, Mr. Malfoy, regardless of their crimes they were your family and I am sure they loved you, and you them." He stood abruptly and strode to the window, looking out over the view of Diagon Alley.

"My parents were utterly incapable of loving anything but money, power and blood status," he stated quietly. "I was their most shining possession; from a very early age I knew my role and what was expected of me. They approved of that, and were pleased that their ambitions came to fruition within me."

"I see." Her tone held a wealth of meaning, and he ventured that she really did know exactly what that meant. "Well, then I suppose that I need to know if you intend to take an interest in the running of Hogwarts, or should we simply owl you the minutes of the meetings." The answer, he found, was as immediate as it was surprising.

"I think I should rather prefer to attend if my schedule permits," he allowed. "I find myself in the unenviable position of seeing the world from two diametrically opposed positions, and I think that has given me a unique perspective on some of the more shocking lacks in our educational system." From his position still at the window he did not see the pleased smile on McGonagall's face, but a moment later he did hear the tea trolley being brought in, and turned.

"If you have time would you like to stay to tea and bring me somewhat up to speed on what I shall need to know about this position? I see they have managed to scrounge some of those ginger biscuits you are so fond of, and I don't believe a slight addition to the tea would go amiss since you have seen fit to disrupt my peace." She laughed aloud and allowed him to escort her to the small sitting area on the other side of the office.

"I do believe I might claim this disruption as partial recompense for the several times I was dragged form my sitting room, and sometimes from my sleep to deal with the aftermath of the mischief you and various members of my house saw fit to become involved in." He thought about that for a moment then raised an eyebrow.

"I suppose you are more deserving of that than you realize actually." He handed her a cup of tea liberally spiked with whiskey and the tin of biscuits. "Do you recall the night in third year when every loo in the school began to fountain with multicolored bogeys? That wasn't the Weasley twins." She choked slightly, and her eyes widened.

"That was _you_?" He laughed aloud at her expression, finally relaxing back into his seat.

"That was, more exactly, myself, Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, and Milicent Bulstrode. We did have to have girls to help set the thing up so we'd get all the loos, not just the gents."

"But the Weasley's confessed!" He grinned in rememberance.

"That was the best part, actually. To pull a prank so extreme and so ghastly that those two twits would gladly serve detention just to get the reputation boost was extraordinarily satisfying. So was watching them trying vainly to figure out who really did it so they knew how it was done." He watched as she actually mopped tears of mirth from her eyes, shaking her head in exasperation.

"I would never have guessed you had such a streak in you, dear boy, never. I suppose you'll be lobbying for more spell proofing the castle and harsher punishments for mischief makers, then?" He expression was affronted.

"That would be Hermoine's position, I'm sure, not mine. Pranks are normally quite innocent, if messy and inconvenient, but they do serve a valid purpose. They encourage teamwork and creativity, they bond students together in mutual mischief or misery as the case may be, no, we should seem as disapproving as you always did before we heard you laughing in your office on occasion."

"I'm quite sure no student ever saw or heard me laugh. I was quite careful with the Silencing Charms." He grinned and she smiled maternally. "You mknow, I believe that is perhaps the first genuine smile I have ever seen from you."

"Hmm, well don't let on, will you? I am supposed to be cold and supercilious at all times, it's a family heritage." She chuckled again.

"I believe the company of muggles has wrought quite a change in you, Mr. Malfoy, quite a change indeed. OR is it perhaps the company of a certain muggleborn?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Now really, Headmistress, that would be telling, would it not?" She laughed again, and conjured a scroll with the agenda for the governors meeting, handing it to him.

"I must go, there is a staff meeting in a few minutes, but I look forward to seeing what you will do with your families position on the board now. Not to mention the rest of the hereditary positions and titles your father could not be bothered to administrate. I shall expect to see you in the newspaper young man." They shook hands cordially and Draco didn't bother to disguise the bemusement in his expression as she exited his office. Apparently bloody wonders never did cease.


	18. Chapter 18 Over The Falls in a Barrel

"I need you to focus, Harry. We have important work to do and we don't have the time for you to pursue this investigation into what Malfoy is doing. As much as I hate to admit it we have nothing on him, and we haven't even found any indication that there is anything to find. We just don't have those kind of resources." Harry stood abruptly, his red Auror robes swirling around him, and Kingsley sighed. "We have so much to do as it is, Harry, three more murders in the last week alone. I'm closing the Malfoy investigation, officially."

"Is it because you don't think we'll find anything or is it because there is so much pressure being exerted from your financial backers?" Harry asked bitterly. Kingsley sighed.

"A government needs money to run, and a Minister needs campaign funds to get re-elected. Do you really want to see someone else in this seat? Someone who doesn't understand what our society needs? What you need? I allow you free reign because you're effective, Harry, and because I believe in a strong Auror department. There is an increasing amount of concern that you go too far sometimes, but I keep those things away from you."

"Maybe I should campaign myself then, at least I would have the courage to make the hard choices to get our world back on track. Sometimes Shackelbolt, I think you are losing your nerve."

"Better my nerve than my mind, like you Potter," Kingsley said matter-of-factly. "You're going over the falls in a very flimsy barrel yet you refuse all help." Harry snorted.

"I am perfectly sane, just fed up," he said coldly. "Why should I protect weak minded, malleable sheep? I shouldn't need to bother with that sort of thing, not anymore. There is more important work to be done."

"About that… I have a special treat for you. Mundungus Fletcher. He has quite the story to tell, so he says. Find out what it is and how much of it is true, will you? It may lead us to the rest of the holdouts eventually. Don't be too careful if you don't want." Harry smiled.

"Regardless of this assignment I am not about to forget about the rest, Kingsley," he warned. "You can cancel the official investigation, but I can certainly use my own time and money to continue it. We will see who is right in the long run, eh?"


	19. Chapter 19 Constant Vigilance?

"No one is impossible to kill, some just go down harder than others." – Fenrir Greyback

(in a conversation with Voldemort after the attack on the Burrow)

Hermione always watched what was happening around her. It was a habit she developed all the way back to primary school so she would never miss an important part of a lesson. It was a habit that had served her well during the war, and had kept her alive during her years as a Hunter. She always paid attention. Except when she didn't.

She was headed for the enchanted limo after finishing with a ribbon cutting ceremony for a new Malfoy enterprise, a potions factory that would employ over a hundred witches and wizards, and provide medicinal potions at a greatly reduced price. The savings was possible because of the implementation of several muggle production procedures and an extremely beneficial contract with a large greenhouse that would provide the bulk of the ingredients. She had barely plowed through the majority of the reporters clamoring for a comment, and was attempting to get to the car door while checking her next appointment on her Blackberry and shouting instructions to the secretary Draco had hired to follow her about when he had begun to shift more and more of the charity work over to her. It was in that instant of distraction that all hell broke loose.

She didn't perceive sound though she was certain later that there must have been some. She saw flashes of light, she saw blood, all that blood, spurting out of her secretaries' neck and splattering her face. The bodyguards Draco had assigned when she started to make public appearances, hulking wizards he categorically refused to dismiss despite her protests, fell like sturdy trees, their wands having not even made it from their holsters. She felt the stunner hit her just before her wand made it out and had time to think "dammit, too slow" before she fell unconscious.

Her head hurt like hell, and she was pissed. Years of battling dark wizards, traipsing around the country searching out Horcruxes and tracking murderous werewolves for bounty had seen to it that a simple abduction didn't frighten her, but she was hopping mad. She tried not to give any indication that she had awakened fully, knowing that would cut the time she had to gather information freely, but figured that the change in her breathing would have given her away if there was a guard on her that knew what they were doing.

There wasn't a whole lot of information gathering to be done with her eyes closed, but as Severus had told her time and again, never overlook what any sense tells you. There was no heat or wind on her face or light on her eyelids. That meant she was indoors, and either it was night or she was in a nearly windowless room. The pervasive silence told her that either she was alone or with someone with an uncanny knack for stillness. Also, that she was likely underground or in an inside room of a structure. Her body did not feel like it had suffered an undue time in one position so it seemed likely that whoever had stunned her had apparated them fairly quickly to wherever they were located, and that a fairly short time had passed, surely not more than an hour or two.

She was certain that Draco was already aware of her predicament and had likely mobilized half the country to search for her, but that did not concern her. She was not some wilting flower to sob in a cell and wait for rescue. No, she would far prefer to escape on her own, better still would be to do so and walk into the Auror office dragging her captors in a bloody little pile behind her. A very bloody, and very small pile considering she would dearly love to reduce whoever had done this to their component atoms at this moment. Still, she wondered whether she would be able to beat him to her rescue. He'd be furious if she did, and she would happily gloat that she didn't need his mollycoddling. It would be lovely. Carefully she cracked an eye open, and was met with, well, nothing.

It wasn't just dark; it was beyond dark. It was dark so deep she had no idea where the walls might be, and no sense of anything around her. This was going to be more difficult than she thought.

Draco heard the wards he had placed on the bodyguards go off in the middle of a conference call with the London R&D branch, and disconnected without a word or thought. It was only a matter of time until something or someone went after her, he had realized that long ago, and taken steps, but the thought that it was truly happening filled him with pulsing, possessive fury. Hermione was _his_ witch, and anyone who harmed her would remember very quickly what a mistake it was to anger the Ice Prince of Slytherin.

He didn't bother to go to the scene; anyone with half a brain would have apparated far away as soon as they touched her. No, he activated the tracking spell he had put on her wand without her knowledge, figuring it was the one thing that was with her without fail. He apparated to the coordinates of the wand, not bothering with a shield charm or any other form of protection. Apparation hangover be damned, he was killing anything not her within sight as soon as he arrived.

He materialized in a cemetery in front of a statue of an angel curled protectively around a headstone. He was alone. Damn it. He glanced around and saw the statues upraised, supplicating hand held something. He took the wand, and a chill went over him. Whoever it was that took her knew to dump her wand. He had no idea where she was.

She smelled it before she heard it, and started to chuckle.

"Fenrir, I should have known. Gods, man, do you not ever bathe?" she heard

The snarl ripped from his throat and smiled.

"You're going to die, little mudblood, like the Dark Lord should have done when you were a little shrieking, pathetic thing. I'm going to make you shriek now."

"Really? How is that? Am I supposed to be afraid of the dark?" she drawled, hackles rising. She could hear him now, hear him moving, pacing a circle around her, and she realized the room couldn't be that big because she heard the sounds of his feet bouncing off the walls. And she knew how far he was away from her. Several things registered at once. He had to have cast a charm on himself so that he could see in the deep dark, he had taken her wand, and he was going to want to make it last. That final part was a relief, because she figured she would need the extra time dragging it out would give her to figure out a way to kill him first. She shifted and realized her boot blades were both intact. Wizards, always the same mistakes over and over again, get the wand and they think they have it made; they never checked for muggle weapons. But she needed her eyes. Or perhaps not. She smiled and rose to her feet.

"You know, you always have sickened me, Greyback. Kiddie killers are such cowardly scum. Where's the challenge? That's why you had to ambush me and take me in the dark. It was the only way in hell you would guarantee you'd win. Or so you thought." Trusting her nose she sprang, and her foot connected solidly with something that snapped as she hit it. He cursed, and moaned. She had caught him in the ribs, the bitch! He snarled and pounced, but she knew his style, could picture how he moved, and she wasn't there when his fist flew by. He sent a hex her way, and she vaulted over it. She could feel her blood begin to pump, and that amazing sense of liquid gold fill her veins. Magic. Yes, she felt it. Her momentary distraction cost her and a sectumsempra hit her arm, making the blood run, and she bit her lip in agony. Ok, that just meant this needed to end quick. So be it. With all her might she grabbed onto the liquid gold feeling in her body, and thrust it outward in one of the most basic ways she knew.

"Lumos!" light exploded around her, briefly illuminating the room, and Greyback screamed, his eyes, augmented by the charm and his werewolf nature, making him even more vulnerable to the white explosion in the room. She did the only thing she could, springing at him, hands ripping the twin daggers she carried out of her boots, and both blades slammed directly into his chest. She used her whole bodyweight to thrust them to the hilt then used the hilts to swing around him, twisting the daggers in his chest cavity. She felt something give way inside him, and they were both falling, he gurgling curses that she only half understood as the brief flare faded, and she grabbed his wand, cursing when it fought against responding to her, but finally guttered with a sickly glow. She saw the door, and blew it open with a hex, forcing the strange, uncomfortable wand to respond, and saw the outdoors. With a grin she stalked back over to the corpse of the werewolf and kicked it several times.

"I told you one day, Greyback, I would take your damned pelt for bounty," she snarled, and grabbing him, apparated directly to the front steps of the Ministry.

Draco was striding up the steps to the Ministry when a thunderous apparation sounded right in front of him, and two figures careened gracelessly into his path, almost knocking his feet out from under him. Cursing, he raised his wand to hex the unfortunate ignoramus into the middle of next week when he looked into a pair of familiar liquid chocolate and gold eyes. Hermione dropped the wand she was holding, fingers finally going nerveless as the adrenaline left her system, her magic critically drained and the blood continued to gush from the slash on her arm. She looked at Draco in perplexed surprise, then shrugged.

"Hi honey, I'm home, and I brought you a present," she said with a semi lucid giggle, pointing to the limp form at her feet. Then she passed out.


	20. Chapter 20 A Crack in the Facade

"You will have to do something, Shackelbolt, you have allowed my son and that mudblood whore of his far too much leeway already. You are jeopardizing our position." Kingsley flushed at Lucius casual use of the derogatory term and placed his glass of sixty year old Firewhiskey onto the side table.

"Our position, Lucius? Don't you mean mine?"

"I meant precisely what I said. I warned you to rid yourself of my son, he is cleverer than you on his worst day, and despite her unfortunate lineage Hermione Granger is one of the most powerful intellects in the wizarding world. You should have loosed Potter on them long ago then denied knowledge and had him Kissed. Kill three birds with one stone."

"Including your son and heir? Isn't that a little counter productive?"

"I am young enough to have another heir and Draco has proven himself, not suitable for the position. I will not have halfblood children in _my_ bloodline."

"Potter is too useful, and public opinion still paints him the hero. And your son and the Granger girl haven't done anything I can pin on them to justify taking action against them. Not that I think they've done nothing, I simply can't find the first shred of evidence of it. They're also popular, Lucius, incredibly popular, and that protects them in and of itself."

"You should have had them both killed before it had a chance to go this far."

"I tried to get Granger shortly after she stole your sons wand out of my office. You recall how that turned out. She killed all but one of the werewolves I set up for the job and your son _liquefied_ the last one. Liquified him, Lucius. Do you have any concept of how much power that takes? Rumor has it he doesn't even carry a wand, that he doesn't need it. If that's the case he might be a match for Potter. We need to keep Potter alive just in case that's true. If it is Harry might be the only one who could kill him."

"It should be true." Lucius smiled. "Pity he became soft in that exile. Had he remained true to his roots things would be much different by now."

"Oh yes, we'd be enslaved by a demented half blood Dark Lord instead, there's an improvement."

"You would be ruled by a wise council of purebloods who had the sense to get rid of the Dark Lord once he served his purpose. Voldemort was simply a means to an end, Shackelbolt. Once his usefulness was at an end he would have been replaced."

"By you and then Draco?" Lucius smirked. Kingsley smirked back.

"I think, Lucius, that your reign would have been short. Isn't murder the normal way for dark pureblood families to pass the torch from one generation to the next?" The smirk dropped and Lucius vanished the drinks with a wave of his hand.

"I think you must have better things to do than gossip like an old woman, Minister. And I certainly do. I shall attempt to succeed where you dare not move. You should have deniability." Kingsley inclined his head in agreement and rose.

"Oh, Lucius? Be careful. If this goes wrong I won't hestitate to throw you to the dogs." The door closed with a soft click and Lucius chuckled.

"Bloody Hufflepuffs. You cannot kill a ghost." He summoned another tumbler of whiskey and swirled it thoughtfully, plans forming in his mind.


	21. Chapter 21 Bathtub Prophecies

All in all Hermione felt both far better and far worse than she had at the same time the previous day.

She tried to roll over, certain that if she didn't manage it then she was quite likely to become so stiff that she would freeze that way. Unfortunately there was something warm and heavy securing her quite handily in the exact position that she was in. She opened her eyes slowly, an unconscious smile curving her lips as she realized that the weight was Draco's arm, and that she was plastered to his side as if he intended her to take root there. His face was buried in her hair, and for once even his silky locks looked disheveled as he lay face down on the bed beside her, still deeply asleep.

Gods, he had certainly earned that rest, she thought with a delicious shiver. As she had expected, Draco had not been able to return her declaration of the night before, but he had taken great pains to show her in every other way that her feelings were returned. He had loved her with a tenderness and passion that made tears spring to her eyes, and that showed her more than simple words ever could that Malfoys could love, and feel, and did indeed do so, deeply.

She was under no delusion that being Mrs. Draco Malfoy was going to be easy, nothing worth having ever was. But she had stopped resisting. She would become the perfect political and society wife he needed. They would take the ministry by storm and change the world. And when they were at home and there were no reporters, no allies and enemies, no one but themselves, then they would simply be Hermione and Draco, a man and a woman who loved one another despite all the history and trauma of their childhood and the pain of a post war life that was what neither ever expected.

It was fitting, she thought, finally managing to lift his arm enough so she could get up and stretch gently. If they could find it within themselves to be what they were, how could the rest of the world fail to follow?

She drew a bath, adding healing and pepper up potions to the water in addition to drinking one of each. She noted that they seemed to be the same recipe that Severus had used, a different, far more effective brew than the one taught in the Hogwarts textbooks. Draco had been a talented potions student, almost as much as herself, though his true genius had always been in Charms. She remembered how viciously they had competed for marks in those days, she casting him smug looks when she would score a point or two above him in Potions for a brew completed slightly faster or with a miniscule difference in quality, then he would come back in Charms, developing new spells even as a student that had Flitwick begging him to accept an apprenticeship to become a Master instead of taking over the reigns of the family fortunes.

She settled in the water, sighing as the aches from her injuries, as well as the ones from their bout of unrestrained passion the night before, eased almost immediately. She let her mind roll back to a day one summer she had watched out the window as, brow furrowed in concentration, Draco had swished, flicked, and snapped his wand in an incredibly complex series of moves, his lips moving in a spell she couldn't hear. She had tensed, ready to flee, certain he was some how trying to sabotage the school, or pull a foul prank, or something equally horrid, when suddenly a pure white flash erupted form the tip of his wand, and suddenly the ground around him had erupted with lovely, pure white flowers. She had been shocked at the pure triumph and delight in his face when the spell worked, and had never said a word on how it came about, even when Professor Sprout noticed with a great deal of puzzlement that somehow an entire bed of Narcissus flowers had simply sprung up one day. The flowers had bloomed constantly in summer and winter for nearly seven years, she remembered. Right up until the day Draco had joined the Order of the Phoenix. The day his parents had told him they no longer had a son. She never remembered seeing the flowers after that, they had wilted and died, and no flower planted in that spot had ever survived.

There were too many such memories, she told herself sternly, ones that never needed reliving. She would remember the good ones: She and Harry and Ron camping in the woods hunting Horcruxes, terrified every day but still sure of their friendship and loyalty to one another above all…Dinners at the Burrow with the Weasley clan, Fred and George pranking everyone, Percy sniffing in disapproval, Ginny making eyes at Harry as he blushed…

Her first kiss with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball, and how she had finally showed Harry and Ron that she really was a girl, not just the Griffyndor brain…Trips to Hogsmead; nights in the common room playing exploding Snap; her first time with Justin Finch-Fletchley though they were both clueless and terribly embarrassed afterwards, but he had said he loved her with such adolescent fervor, and she had wanted to love someone too, though she shortly realized that it was not him. They had parted amicably, though she knew that he had harbored a crush on her for some time afterward…Her time with Severus, when their feelings were the only sanity in a brutal and insane situation. And now Draco, his reserved façade that hid such emotion, and he was hers, only hers now. She was surprised at how possessive she was, but she accepted it. She could be greedy and jealous when it came to him; he would accept that from her. He knew almost every dark secret she carried, had seen her at her most debased and depraved. He had watched her kill and torture, and had even suffered at her hand, and yet he still loved her. She was muggleborn, and he accepted her. It was no less than her miracle.

"Not just your miracle," he said quietly, slipping into the tub beside her. She flowed into his arms, letting him cradle her. "You accepted my demons too, love, never forget that."

"And your bad habit of using legilimency whenever you feel like it," she scolded gently. He shrugged.

"You see? We all have our flaws. We are what we are, and I doubt we will change. I will continue to use my skills to come out ahead. You didn't really think that Malfoy Industries was all built by sound business acumen and a talent for negotiation, did you? We have a long tradition of talent, all right, talent for the magic of the mind. Legilimens, Occlumens, and some of the more esoteric disciplines that have been outlawed were our specialities. As ashamed as we are to admit it, we have even beget several seers, though we publicly denounce the whole discipline as utter tripe."

"You mean it's not?" she giggled as he ducked her under the bubbles.

"For the most part seers are simply talented Legilimens who say what they need to make galleons. However, sometimes…" he looked a little disturbed. "Well, there are exceptions. Trelawny was right even though she never knew she was the real thing. There are some books in the family library, no one ever admits that we take them seriously, but I know my father would read them to see what to do, of course then he would ignore them, and everything would come to pass anyway. Aunt Bella called them 'future history'. They scared her until she went so mad that nothing frightened her anymore. I locked them away after….well, I locked them away."

"After what?"

"It's all mad weird stuff anyway, you can always interpret this bunk seventeen ways to Sunday. The crazy bint that wrote them made Nostradamus look sane I tell you."

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't out to get you."

"What?" she shook her head.

"It's a muggle saying. It means that even if something is insane that doesn't mean that it isn't true. What did it say that made you lock it up?"

"It said some nonsense about how the Dark Lords death was only the beginning and the light would turn dark and the Ice Dragon and the Mother of Earth would unite the magics to part the veil and heal the wounded world. If you want a real prophecy then make one. I've yet to see a prophecy I like. Just once let it say "on april seventeeth, 2012 at eight in the evening a meteor is going to drop in the ocean and cause a tidal wave that will kill several hundred people and massively impact the fisheries trade for at least two years causing investments in shrimp futures to skyrocket.' That's a prophecy I would listen to."

"Shrimp futures? Seriously?" he scowled, but saw it was having no effect. As usual.

"You know precisely what I mean. If you thought Divination wasn't bunk why did you drop it at school?" She raised a hand in surrender.

"I agree, most of it is bunk, but there wouldn't be a Department of Magical Mysteries if it were all bunk, would there? Plus there is the whole timeline factor that you pointed out. A prophecy can mean several things and you never quite know if you have the one meant for when you think it is. But that one is a bit disturbing you have to admit. You took one look at it and saw that the Ice Dragon was you, didn't you?"

"Bunk and twaddle, that's all it is." She shook her head, chuckling.

"All right, you made your point. No prophecies, no weird magic diaries, I think we've all had enough of them anyway. Just us trying to take over the world. That's much more practical." He laughed, and pulled her back into his chest.

"Take over the world, hmm? I was thinking just Britain, and even then I was going to give it back once it was repaired. Who knew you were such a greedy Slytherin at heart?"

"What if we don't want to give it back?" she joked, smiling. He looked appalled.

"Sweet Merlins beard woman, I have enough to do owning half of Britains' wizarding economy and a fair chunk of Muggle Britains' now as well. What on earth would we do with the world? The administration alone would be a nightmare. No, I am afraid the world will simply have to soldier on without our tender leadership, though you are more than welcome to spend a few billion galleons or pounds or euros or what have you on whatever philanthropy catches your eye."

"I think you mean million, darling, I don't want to run the Malfoy vaults dry, you know. It would be a shame to have to share vacation homes or yachts with other aristocrats, what would the neighbors say?" He cast her an impatient glare for the sarcasm, and sat back in the water, shaking his head.

"Actually, when I said billion, that is exactly what I meant, and I hardly think you have to worry about bankrupting us to the point we would have to stoop to time shares. Are you really so clueless as to how widespread our interests are?" She shrugged and smiled.

"I spent a good portion of our youth ignoring most things about you, Draco, then once I was an adult there was no reason for me to know how the old pureblood families had divvied up the wizarding world between them several hundred years ago." He chuckled.

"It's amazing, really. I find the perfect woman, and in some respects she does want me for my money and power, yet she takes no time to learn exactly how much of either one there is. You make a terrible gold digger, Hermione Granger. Especially since you keep giving the money away every time I shower you with it."

"Well that's what it's for, after all," she said reasonably. "Give tons of it away; buy popularity and loyalty, it's the fastest way to do it."

l

"I have been trying to shower you with luxury as well, you know," he pointed out. "You just don't seem to notice."

"I noticed the jewels and the clothes, and the introductions to premier stylists and make up artists, but honestly I thought it was so I would keep up to the standard you were setting. I didn't want you ashamed to be seen with me, or to have to make up excuses for me."

"Ah love, you would look beautiful in a burlap sack, that was never the point. I wanted you to have the best of everything, to be the envy of everyone, to never have to worry about anything monetary again. Money is easy for me, Hermione, probably because I have so much of it. It's the other things that are more of a challenge. You will need to learn about the family holdings though, I am quite serious about that. I do not want you to be kept in the dark about it, and I want you to understand why sometimes there will be nights when I honestly am working and won't be able to come home. Sometimes I may be able to ask you to join me, sometimes I won't, but I do not want you believing that I'm off somewhere doing Merlin knows what like my father did to my mother."

"You father was unfaithful I suppose." He snorted.

"That's an understatement, I'm afraid. My father went through women like some men go through liquor. He was rarely without a mistress, and even when he had one he would sleep with random females, as long as they were purebloods. I've sometimes wondered if there are any attractive female purebloods between the ages of seventeen and a hundred that he didn't fuck at some point or other. And I'm somewhat sure he didn't draw the line at seventeen, though that is something I have never wanted to contemplate too closely." She saw the utter revulsion in his gaze and sighed.

"You hated what it did to your mother." He nodded.

"Whatever she was, whatever they were, they were my parents. Lucius I grew to hate, and I'm not ashamed of that, he deserved it, and I should have killed him myself in the final battle. My mother was different. She was the only one who ever even attempted to care about me, even though even she chose Voldemort over me in the end."

"I'm so sorry, I still don't understand it, I never have. How could anyone chose dark magic over their own family?" He smiled sadly.

"Why do you think I chose you, Hermione? It's exactly because you can never understand, because you never craved power above everything else and you never will. Regardless of everything you have seen and done somehow you kept your soul pure. I wish to Merlin I could say the same."


	22. Chapter 22 Parselmouth

"The Dark Arts are many, varied, ever-changing and eternal. Fighting them is like fighting a many-headed monster, which, each time a neck is severed, sprouts a head even fiercer and cleverer than before. You are fighting that which is unfixed, mutating, indestructible."

-Severus Snape

"You used to be much more subtle, and I think, more clever than you are now, Lucius, confinement must be affecting your judgment."

"Potter. To what do I owe this, unscheduled, visit?" Harry cocked his head, staring at the blond man in vague puzzlement. It was difficult now, remembering how it was that Lucius had so frightened him all those years ago. Perhaps it had been physical. Lucius was quite tall and powerfully built for a wizard, easily topping six feet, and obviously unusually fit for a wizard, and Harry had been, well, he had been eleven, hadn't he, and small for his age. Lucius could have picked him up one handed and shaken him like a rag doll if he hadn't considered such physical intimidation to be incredibly gauche.

Perhaps it was just that Harry had forgotten fear. That had happened right around the time Voldemort killed him, he recalled. After all, once you have died, what else is there, really, to be afraid of? He swung his wand carelessly in his left hand, watching Lucius watch the wand suspiciously.

"I came because Greyback was caught. I suppose you knew that, though, how could you not? Why did you send him? You had to know he was too much of an idiot to succeed, and I don't see why you would want Hermione dead anyway." Lucius eyes widened at the emotionlessness in Potters tone. Even now he had expected some show of fidelity to the mudblood whore, some trace that the Boy-Who-Lived still felt some affinity for the rest of the Golden Trio who had helped him defeat the Dark Lord. But there was nothing, no anger, no ranting, nothing but this strange, vague curiosity. It was as if Potter was becoming increasingly disconnected from the world around him, and only emerged when something sufficiently interesting caught his attention.

"It was a test, more than anything," he finally admitted with a sniff. "To see what, if any, precautions Draco had taken for her safety, and what the reaction would be to her abduction." Harry nodded slowly. He understood testing the waters when one was going to lay a trap. It had taken several years of Auror training to develop that level of subtlety in him, but once Harry Potter learned something, it stayed with him. Then he frowned.

"I thought I told you I was dealing with them? We still don't know what they're up to, do we, and that won't do at all. We have to know what they're up to before I kill them. We don't want to kill them for no reason, you know, Kingsley frowns on that sort of thing." He frowned a bit darker at that, and Lucius imagined that it was getting more and more difficult for Potter to tolerate being dictated to by Shackelbolt, having his own inclinations reigned in more and more often. He shook his head at Potters naivete, finally deciding it was safe to tke his eyes off the wand and turning to pour himself a drink.

"Really, Potter, are you really so dense that you haven't figured out what they want? They want power, as does everyone else. I will hand it to the Mudblood that the plan is a sound one, woo the masses and the great unwashed will beat a path of approval to your door. I suspect they intend to set Draco up to be the next Minister of Magic eventually, though they will find that a harder go than they realize." Harry seemed to think about that for a short while, shaking his head slowly.

"It's never a good idea to let a Malfoy have any real power," he said quietly. "Look at you Lucius, gods know you're mad, and that apple never did fall far from the tree." Lucius noted the glow around the tip of Potters wand with a growing unease. He had taken on the tutelage of the Potter boy with no small measure of reluctance once he had managed to negotiate his way out of Azkaban and into Kingsley Shackelbolts confidential protection. The Dark Lord had been mad, certainly, but it was a manageable, understandable madness based on the love of power and dark magic. Potter was simply unstable, and teaching him dark magic was only making that instability more obvious. He was quite sure that one day Potter would snap and likely go on a killing spree that would leave at least London in a shambles. He intended somehow, to be well clear of Britain when that happened.

"So you intend to kill Draco?" he couldn't make his tone sound regretful, even if he wished to try. The boy was nothing but a muggle loving blood traitor, and Lucius would be well pleased to see the boy choking on his own blood for his treachery.

"Someday, probably," Harry replied pensively. "He never did really deserve to live. I wanted to kill him when he turned and joined the Order, but everyone believed he had changed, that he wasn't evil. But I knew," he nodded wisely at Lucius, eyes hard behind his glasses. "Oh yes, I knew that blood will out and Malfoy's are evil. Now look. He'll get himself and Hermione accepted and flaunt the Dark Mark and that bloody tattoo all over and people will admire them for it. They won't see what they are really about. They won't see that it's all a ploy, that they only want to cause trouble, and unrest. They're disruptive to the peace. I worked hard for peace, Lucius, and there will be peace if I have to kill every dark wizard and criminal to have it." Lucius discreetly leaned away from the tip of Harry's wand that was sparking red and black as his temper and magic began to slip.

"Harry, mind your wand," he said quietly, laying a hand on the boys arm. Potter looked down, surprised, and holstered it, cutting off the sparks.

"I…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lose control, but no one really understands…" he trailed off, staring into the fire as though it were saying something incredibly important to him. Lucius rose slowly and took his hand, leading him into an adjoining room.

"I think perhaps you need some time to relax," he said almost gently. "And there are several friends of yours who have missed your company." There was a chorus of loud, excited hisses as they entered the room and Harry seemed to come back to himself for a moment, smiling with innocent happiness at the room of coiling, slithering bodies. He stepped fearlessly through the wards that Lucius had set to only accept him, watching as the serpents cleared a path into the middle of the room, then began to twine and slide across Harry as he sat down, then finally lay down among them, drowsy and relaxed. Lucius watched for a few minutes as Harry began to speak in Parselmouth to the collected snakes, obviously carrying on multiple happy conversations before shaking his head and exiting the room, a shudder of revulsion coursing down his back. He would not admit to himself that there was also a cold chill of actual fear.


	23. Chapter 23 Ivernic

Hermione began a series of katas, her muscles beginning to loosen and relax as she moved. She dipped and twisted and kicked, her wand hand beginning to move in a choreographed counterpoint, swishing and flicking, jabbing and circling as defensive and offensive spells were chanted silently in a graceful dance of death. This was what had kept her alive, collecting bounties of werewolves and vampires and similar undesirables. Cunning spell work with muggle combat skills. Very few in the wizarding world did any sort of true physical fitness, relying on fancy spell casting for combat, but Hermoine found it only sensible to be able to dodge a curse instead of countering it. The large dueling chamber she had found in Malfoy Manor had easily lent itself to her purpose and she had transfigured several rugs into practice mats so she could work more simply.

The exercise also helped her think, to arrange her thoughts and plan, something she had been forced to do more and more of after beginning her association with Draco Malfoy. Association, what a cold word for what stood between them. By the time they had returned to his trendy London town home her things had already been placed in his bedroom, and her protests had been cut off in the most effective way possible, one that involved them both and left them panting on his sheets, sweaty and exhausted.

She couldn't decide at first if he was attempting to exhaust her into agreement with all his plans, or if his libido really was that active. She now knew. He had the sex drive of a veela in heat, and seemed to be single handedly attempting to drive her into a happy, satiated coma. She recalled that in school he had been referred to as the Slytherin Sex God. At the time she had made faces of disgust and put her nose in the air, refusing to believe anything of the sort. Now, well, she knew what all the fuss had been about, and damned if it wasn't true.

She kicked, twisted and spun, wand dancing in increasingly violent patterns, spells she had always had too much conscience to cast coming perfectly to memory. She always had perfect memory. A sudden unbidden image of Severus, his face taut with impatience, moving her hand, showing her the twists and flicks of spells he thought she would never use, Dark curses of his own design, and several the creations of Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and the Carrows. Pain stabbed her suddenly, her heart seeming to contract in her chest. It had been many years since she had been struck by such grief, and she was unprepared for the force of it. She had wondered if he would have approved of she and Draco, but could almost see him shaking his head in disgust at her useless angst.

"Really, do you seriously think that you should be taking advice on a current lover from a dead lover? And in what sad reality should I give a good damn whom you sleep with now that I am gone? Use your own judgment, witch, and take responsibility for your choices and you will satisfy any expectations I might have had of you." Yes, that would have been the Severus everyone knew, and she would have looked into his eyes and seen that as long as she was content, he would be as well. Well, as long as she didn't compromise her standards with some dolt who was no match for her in power or intellect. She grinned suddenly, the grief passing as quickly as old grief often does, leaving only a bittersweet wistfulness in its place. He would have appreciated this plan, and doubtless demanded that she lead Draco a merry chase if only to rid him of a bit of that bloody arrogance. Maybe she already had, but that didn't mean that she necessarily needed to stop doing so. She smirked, and it was not a nice expression. After all, she learned it from the best.

She headed for the shower then, intending to read more in a fascinating book she had found in a case in the Manor library. She could barely make out one word in five, it was in some odd form of ancient English, she thought, but there was something else mixed in, something that she dared not even attempt to read out loud, as the first time she did she could feel the magic begin to crawl over her skin, and it was old indeed, old and powerful, and something that redefined the difference between Dark and Light and was far older than either.

"It's called Ivernic. There are words in almost every language that have their roots in it if you go back far enough." She looked up in surprise as Draco entered the study, his eyes on the book as if it were a particularly dangerous animal. "Can you understand any of it?"

"At first only perhaps one word in five, but the patterns have started to emerge and I think I am getting a better grasp. I've never heard of Ivernic before, who spoke it?" His lips twisted, and he took a chair carefully as far away from her and the book as was possible.

"It's not a dead language, just a very rare one. You haven't been reading it out loud, have you?" She shook her head, and watched him relax just slightly, a frisson of discomfort running down her spine. Draco was not afraid of the book or the language, she sensed that, not that he was afraid of much of anything at all, but there was a wealth of cautious respect in his face, and just a bit of something she couldn't identify, longing, perhaps, but that made no sense at all.

"I started to try to read it phonetically at first, but I could feel magic just in the language," she admitted. "I thought perhaps reading aloud was not the best idea." He barked a laugh.

"No, not the best idea with that, not at all. It's possible to drive someone utterly mad just by speaking to them in Ivernic, well, depending on what you say, of course. The other person does not even need to understand it." She understood then and dropped the book like it had caught fire.

"It's one of the five languages of magic, isn't it? One of the originals." He nodded, and accio'd the book back on the table.

"The book itself isn't dangerous and is quite ancient, Hermione, no need for such melodrama. Ivernic is the high speech of the elves, a language so purely magical that simple conversation with intent is the equivalent of spell casting."

"The elves went extinct thousands of years ago," she protested. "It has to be a dead language." He shook his head.

"The elves are no more dead than you and I, they simply exist differently. They conquered time long before our ancestors discovered fire, and they live between moments, here but not. That's why wizards and muggles alike thought that elves were immortal. They are not. Their life spans are not determined by linear time, but by intent. The lifespan of an elf is over when it feels there is no more point to its continuing, no more, no less."

"Can you read it?" he nodded. "Of course. My father made sure that I learned."

"Yet I don't think I have ever heard you speak it, have I?"

"No, and you should be damned grateful for it. That language to an unprepared person, can be far more insidious than the strongest Imperious, more painful than Crucio, and as deadly as Avada. All I would have to do is look at a person and command them to die, and if my intent was present they would die."

"That's your secret to wandless magic, isn't it? You are thinking in this language."

"That's a part of it, but by no means the whole. Mastery of wandless magic takes years of discipline, practice and no small amount of natural power. Lesser wizards and witches simply are unable to do it."

"The Ministry would see you dead in seconds if they knew this, wouldn't they? No wonder you handed over your wand without hesitation. A wand to you must be a useless toy."

"You give me far too much credit. I gave up my wand because it was that or my life, and I still quite valued my life. I did not know then what the source of wandless magic was. My father started off teaching me in the traditional way, concentration, focus and discipline. That is the only way most wizards do it, the only way most could. Even reading Ivernic can cause insanity in many wizards. Had I known that book was in the library I would have hidden it and warded the thing so no one but myself could ever read it. The simple fact that not only has it not harmed you, but also that you have begun to understand it without someone to teach you, it's quite telling."

"In what way?"

"Tradition, and I do not know if it is true or not, states that persons with fey blood cannot be harmed inadvertently by Ivernic and will have an affinity for it. I can see the possibility of fey blood in your bone structure and physical grace, though it would have been many generations ago."

"So it follows that you have that blood as well, doesn't it? Doesn't that give lie to the whole pureblood thing you used to espouse so heavily?"

"On the contrary, fey blood is the most purely magical of any, and Ivernic is the very first language of magic. Purebloods originally were only concerned with the magical heritage of their blood, not the fleshly component. Granted one could not be part troll or goblin and retain purity of magic, but to be partially fey was to command incredible power. It was only later that it was perverted to speak to bloodline alone."

"Say something to me in it, something harmless." He shuddered.

"No."

"Why?"

"It's a bad idea." He accio'd the book to himself and walked over to a glass case, intending to lock it away. Hermoine was out of her seat in a heartbeat, snatching it out of his hands.

"You said the book wasn't dangerous, and I want to learn it, Draco. If you won't teach me I will teach myself." He glared, and shrugged her off.

"I told you the book itself wasn't dangerous, I said nothing of the sort about the contents. It is dangerous in many different ways. You shouldn't spend a lot of time around fey items, it tends to have side effects." He placed his hand on a glass case and it opened, swirling eddies of magic testing his hand, then parting. He was about to put the book inside when, in a lightening fast move, Hermoine struck his hand, bouncing the book out of his grip and snatching it, apparating across the room and fairly hissing at him.

"You have no right to dictate what I do and do not study you arrogant bastard! I want to learn this, I can almost see the meaning now, you have no idea how close I am!"

"I know exactly how close you are and to what!" he shouted. "Look at yourself Granger, it's already an addiction. You can't put it down; you want to read it aloud. You want to see what happens when the magic responds to your every whim with no effort at all. Don't you?" She glared, but refused to answer. He glided up to her, his expression fierce in a way she had never seen it.

"You want to feel the magic in your blood. You never felt it before this unless you were holding a wand. You knew it was there, you could manipulate it like the tool that it was but you couldn't feel it. I'm guessing that the first time you held a wand and used it you were done for. That's the way it always works. You feel the magic through the wand, and it's hot and sweet and it makes adrenaline rush through your entire body. It's like an orgasm except that back then you didn't know what an orgasm was, much less possess the ability to have one." Hermoine was nearly hypnotized by his words. His description was more than accurate; it was terrifying in its perception. She couldn't move, the heat from his body was blasting hers, his eyes searing hers with molten mercury, she was dizzy.

"I think you'll acknowledge that I know a little bit about addiction, Hermione. You should trust me when I tell you that this is a path that you do not want to walk down." He slowly pulled the book out of her hands, his expression softening. "Let it go, love, please." It was the quiet concern that loosened her fingers from the spine at last and she watched as he locked it in the warded case, trying not to sob. He turned back and took her in his arms, rocking her like a small child.

"It will fade, I promise. Eventually you won't even care that it's there. Just give it time."

"It hurts," she gasped, trying to hold back the desperation. She had never been exposed to something like this before, never felt the agony of withdrawls. This alone should convince her that it was dangerous, she thought, and while her logical mind understood that, she was totally unable to convince her body and emotions. She wanted to scream and curse him, and worst of all she wanted to say some of the words in the book, some that felt cruel, felt cutting, even though she had no idea of the real meaning. Instead she bit her lips until they bled, and allowed him to hold her. She allowed him to lead her from the library, and she didn't notice when he Vanished the entire case containing the book, his expression resolute.


	24. Chapter 24 The Painting in the Attic

She looked for the book in under a day, crying in frustration when she couldn't find it. She toured through the manor every floor, every room, the cold eyes of prior Malfoys watching her from their portraits, but refusing to speak with her when addressed, some even muttering "mudblood" when she passed. After several days searching in her spare time she had to acknowledge that the book was gone and there was no getting it back, but still the allure of the language called to her. She began to research any mention of it she could, and as she did she began to catch hints of other things, reasons if not excuses for some of the strange beliefs in the wizarding world that as a muggleborn she had never understood.

She continued charity work and they made the obligatory social engagements, but Draco was more and more caught up in managing the huge conglomerate that was Malfoy Industries, as well as his seat on the Hogwarts board of governors, and his cultivation of friends within the Ministry. Hermione was left at loose ends more than she had been since school, and found herself delving more and more deeply into the Malfoy family history and the history of the wizarding world. She found more than one cache of ancient books in the huge structure that was Malfoy Manor, and with the assistance of the house elves she was able to bypass the blood wards that seemed to encase anything that might be loosely conceived to be of value in the house.

She was in the massive attic going through trunks that had to date nearly back to the sixteenth century when she heard it. At first she thought it had to be a music box or phonograph of some sort, but as she advanced she was able to distinguish that it was actually a voice, singing. It was hauntingly lovely, and she began to push through the detritus of years to find the source. It was over against a wall leaning into a dormer, faced away from the rest of the attic that she finally found it. It was a portrait, a very very old portrait, she saw almost immediately, and the resident gasped in shock as she hauled it out of the corner and into the light of a window.

"Oh my." Hermione froze as she looked at the woman in the portrait, and the portrait gazed back. She was incredibly lovely, almost unnaturally perfect with opalescent skin and brilliant grey eyes in a face with cheekbones so sharp they could seemingly cut glass, and gracefully upswept, pointed ears.

"Who are you?" they both asked simultaneously, then laughed together at the coincidence.

"I'm Hermione Granger, I live here with the current Lord Malfoy," Hermione said after the laughter died down. The woman in the portrait looked her over for a moment, then frowned.

"You do not look like the usual pale, insipid flower that marries into this line," she said finally. "There is much of my people in you, I think. From what clan do your ancestors hail?"

"Your people? Clan? As far as I know there are no elves in my family. I come from muggles," she confessed hesitantly. The woman gave her a smile and a knowing shake of the head.

"Perhaps you do not know, but I can see it. There is much of us in you. Wood elf I would wager, close to the earth, just as the males of this line are close to the air. Does the current heir still speak the tongue of his ancestors?"

"You're speaking of Ivernic, aren't you?" The woman inclined her head. "He knows the language, but it isn't spoken aloud. He says it's dangerous." The woman sighed and reclined back on the couch in the background of the portrait.

"All things are dangerous to those who are instructed incompletely. This language is his heritage as it is yours and many others who took people like my mother to wife. They wish to forget us now, though. Most of the others will not allow me to visit their portraits, but there are a few, and I have seen how the mighty have fallen. And what of you, Hermione Granger? Are you of a high born muggle family? It seems that the pomposity of birth is the only thing that matters to this family now."

"Draco says that it's been all for power and money for generations. I suppose it paid off for them, they are the richest wizarding family in Britain and used to have a huge amount of influence until they sided with Voldemort in the war. You did hear of the war, didn't you?"

"Oh yes, and I looked many times from the corners of portraits at the one who called himself the Dark Lord. Any one of my uncles could have spoken him out of existence with a single word. There is so much that has been lost. To see so many suffer because they put away knowledge that they feared is sad indeed."

"I'm not highborn at all, but Draco insists there must be something of the fey in my blood because I could begin to learn the language and not go mad."

"They are still teaching that old lie, I see. Know this, Hermione Granger, our language cannot cause damage where none is meant. Does he not realize that intent is necessary to do any magic of consequence? And if there must be intent then how can the lack cause harm? Shall I tell you a story? I have many stories, most of which are true. I can tell you why he thinks that our language will drive you mad, and I can tell you why the other portraits sneer and scowl and despise you and your kind."

"Would you like to be moved to a nicer place in the Manor while we speak?" The portrait woman looked so wistful that Hermione felt bad for her.

"A room with a window that looks upon a garden, perhaps? I have so missed the change of the seasons for such a long time."

"I think that can be arranged," she agreed and picked up the portrait. "Can you tell me your name?"

"Certainly. I am Alorica Malfoy-Slytherin."


	25. Chapter 25 Of Fey and Mudbloods

Hermione was covered in dust and grime when she stepped into the salon that overlooked the garden that she had appropriated as hers when she moved in. Using a quick scourgify she cleaned herself and the painting, and conjured an easel to set it on that overlooked one of the more informal gardens, taking a seat at an angle to it so she did not obstruct the view. Alorica came close to the front of her frame and smiled.

"Summer, I did not know it was summer already again. The world is so alive in this season. I miss the wind the most, I think. But I promised you a tale, Hermione Granger, and a tale you shall have. It is the least that I can do, I think, for my release from exile."

"Humans are not naturally magical, that is one of the basic truths of existence, and possibly the first thing anyone should know to understand anything that comes after," she began. "The elves knew this, as did the other four original magical races, and at first it was thought that humans were unintelligent because of this. For uncounted centuries the five races watched them, laughed at them and despised them, until one day they began to do different things. They began to shape tools and use them. They discovered fire, and levers and forging metal and soon the world seemed to ring with the sounds of this new thing called industry. The world started to stink with the fires of the forge, and when the first elf touched cold iron and was burned they knew that something altogether different had come to pass. The humans were not stupid and useless, they were fundamentally different, so different that there was no common understanding, no basis to compare. There was a conclave and it was agreed that the races would make themselves known to the humans so an accord could be reached in which all races could share the world.

"They appeared to all the great kings of humans at once, ambassadors from the ether, and after much negotiation and no few instances of battle, accords were reached, and as all such treaties are, it was sealed in blood. The sons of man were given daughters of the fey to wed, and when those alliances were fruitful the first witches and wizards were born. It did not stop there, as all should have known it would not, and soon it was more common for the fey and the humans to marry and have children. A pattern began to emerge, however, fey typically marrying into certain families, the magic getting stronger as generation after generation was infused with new fey blood. It was only a matter of time before someone decided it was too dangerous to allow so much power in the hands of so few. This family was one of the ones who saw where this would lead and so they began to publicly condemn those who married fey while secretly continuing to do so. I lived the majority of my life under a glamour, as did my mother before me and my brothers.

"Finally there was a gathering of the most powerful families and it was decided that they would join together and banish the ones with the close connections to the fey from the wizarding world. My family escaped by pretending we did not carry what was called the new "cursed blood". Stories were spread about that horrors of the half breed fey, and used to scare small children at night. Hogwarts was opened with the help of my grandson Salazar to teach the children the new doctrine, and the fey were purged form the collective memory of the wizarding world simply out of fear.

"It was about this time that Godrick Gryffindor discovered what he called Muggle-born, who were simply the offspring of the banished wizards and witches who went into hiding. He had no knowledge of the agreements that had been made in the families and did not understand why Salazar feared them as he did. My grandson lied, he told the world that it was because they were tainted, dirty blood, they would dilute the magic in the wizard world, they would breed Squibs. He falsified studies to "prove" his claims, anything to keep the fey children form Hogwarts, but in the end it was Godric who prevailed because the children were allowed in and though most did not know who and what they were, at least they were still taught. And so it went for generations, and the blood did dilute because so many so called muggle borns felt so unwelcome in the wizarding world that they would leave and go back and marry true muggles again. There were some bloodlines, however, who were so strong in the magic that even these countless generations it breeds true. You are one, and the Malfoys are the other. They were so heavily intermarried at one point that one could barely call them human. That is why they are all so unearthly lovely. The Manor also lies directly atop one of the strongest ley lines in Britain, if not the world. Magic infuses every brick in this home, every drop of water and every breath of air.

"Sadly, over the years even the old families purposely did not pass along the knowledge of what they had done, and so the craft passed into obscurity, the language began to be forgotten and practical teaching became folklore. I suppose this always happens when great cultures rise and fall, but to see it happen in the space of only a few generations was more painful than you know."

"And you lived through this time? You are Salazar Slytherins grandmother?" The portrait smiled and nodded.

"Yes, I am. I wore my glamour until the day I died, but when my portrait animated I was as you see me. It was a function of my own native magic I suppose. They hid my portrait away so no one would know, it would have been the end of both families for going against the accords in such a way. I have been there ever since."

"Can you teach me now? Can you teach me how to speak it, how to read it, how to use it?" Alorica smiled.

"I can, but that does not mean that I shall. There is much power and much risk in what you want me to do and before I will consent I will learn more of you and satisfy myself that such a gift will not be abused. And so, Hermione, now you will tell me of yourself, I think, and we will see."


	26. Chapter 26 The Word for Beauty and Light

"The word for beauty and the word for light is the same."

"Yes, because there is nothing more beautiful to the fey than the light, and so it is reflected in the language. You yourself can feel this, can you not? You may love the moon and the stars, but your power is even greater in the heat of day, and when the sun is high and the clouds few you can nearly vibrate with the power of it. Tell me, are you good with potions?" Hermione nodded, her lips tipping upward in a smile.

"Always one of my favorite subjects in school. I could instinctively see how ingredients would react together and with the metal the cauldron was constructed from. I could brew polyjuice when I was eleven."

"I thought so. All those things come from your affinity with the earth. Your young man will be a fine flier and unparalleled in spellwork, this is the element of air in his blood. The Malfoy line has always been so. They were most suited to the mountain clans who rode dragonback through the high places and built their weirs into the sides of mountains. What is the word for mountain, Hermione?"

And so the lessons went.


	27. Chapter 27 Mysterious Meetings

"We've not been out clubbing in months, it seems an opportune time." Hermione snorted as she looked at the deep red parchment in Draco's hand, and with a quick wand wave accio'd it to her grip.

"Ah, and the fact that it comes from Blaise Zabini and states there is a conversation worth having doesn't have a thing to do with it, I suppose?"

"There are always reasons, love, you know that, but that doesn't mean that once the business is conducted that we cannot have a good time. A club in Knockturn Alley that has become quite the rage? I'm interested to see it."

"Knockturn Alley? Is that really a good idea?" He smirked.

"Probably not, but we're going anyway. No one will ever truly forget what I am, what we are, Hermione, I won't hide from it. I _like_ being a rather dark wizard, too much light makes me faintly nauseous." She grinned at the way his lips twisted in scorn at the thought that his life would be completely overwhelmed with lightness.

"And have you any guesses as to the topic if this conversation?"

"No idea, but if he is requesting a conversation then it at least bears hearing him out. I find it interesting that he is the owner of one of the only nightclubs that caters to both muggleborn and pureblood and that there hasn't been more controversy over the place."

"In other words there is more of a conspiracy of silence to keep it open than to make it exclusive. It must be quite a place."

"Of that I have no doubt. Look at the dress code on the parchment." Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Club wear, goth or fetishwear required? Curiouser and curiouser."

"So, to London? I find my wardrobe quite lacking in all respects to this, and I do confess to a fascination to seeing you in anything that might be considered fetishwear."

"I am not wearing leather bras or assless chaps if that's what you're thinking." He laughed aloud and shook his head.

"Not quite what I had in mind, though the leather bra might be interesting. Come on love, grab the credit cards and we'll start from the London flat and take the limo."

* * *

"If I'd known how amazing we look in goth clothes I would have insisted on going to that type of club long ago." Hermione rolled her eyes at his unabashed conceit as he evaluated them both in the nearly 360 degree mirrors in the master suite closet. Closet, hah, she thought, still amazed that a closet would have a sofa in it. The closet alone was almost the size of her whole bedsit in London.

"You can still be such a ponce sometimes," she sighed, though she had to admit he was right. He raised one eyebrow, and she felt her pulse increase. He noted it and smirked.

"It's not poncey to acknowledge that you're beautiful, especially when it's obvious. We really are probably the handsomest wizard couple in Europe, you know."

"Well, you are anyway," she admitted. "And if we don't get out of here you won't make it out of the closet much less the bedroom." He curled an arm around her, fondling one full breast and sliding his other hand under her skirt. She moaned, and arched against his hands, eyes falling closed.

"That doesn't sound so bad," he said huskily. "As long as you keep the stockings and heels on. They really are amazing." He began to manouver them to the sofa and she pulled away reluctantly.

"Oh no, you aren't getting away with not dancing with me dressed like that Draco Malfoy. We will have plenty of fun later." Her eyes scorched over him predatorially. "And you'll be keeping most of that on, except where it gets in the way." His smirk was triumphant.

"I told you we looked good." She sighed. He was right, as annoying as it was. His black mesh shirt and leather pants molded every line of muscle and sinew, the left arm of tattoo work almost shining with the brilliant green and silver in the design. The outline of the mark on his back showed clearly through the material, and he wore dragon hide boots, and just enough white gold jewelry to set off his platinum hair and silver eyes. He had not affected the makeup that they had seen in the shops they visited, declaring he was not about to girl himself up to that degree. She agreed with relief, though he had overseen her own application of heavy eyeliner and lip paint. Her hair was artfully disheveled, and her dress barely covered what was necessary to be considered legal, much less decent. Micro mini in black leather with decorative buckles, fishnet stockings, ripped in places, suspenders clearly visible, thigh high patent leather stilleto heeled boots, and a scrap of fabric that covered her breasts and went to midriff, then laced from her sides across her back to stay on. She wore a crimson ribbon choker with a serpent pendant that curled down into her cleavage, and was enchanted to slither across her skin when she was approached. She wore matching earrings and an armband that were similarly enchanted and were quite unnerving looking. She looked like she would Avada someone without thinking twice. In fact, she bore a more than passing resemblance in some respects to Bellatrix, which rather appalled her. However, she couldn't deny that she looked good; being with Draco had served to increase her confidence by a great degree as had being forced to see her own picture in the paper constantly.

"Let's go before we get distracted." He smiled, and offered her his arm.

They took a thestral drawn coach similar to those used at Hogwarts, only open and decorated with the Malfoy family crest. It was charmed so the elements could not affect the passengers and was driven, to her chagrin, by a house elf. They debarked at the head of the line into the club and were assaulted by the heavy beat of the music pounding into the alley. There was a line nearly all the way back out to Diagon Alley of people waiting to get in, and Hermione noted that they seemed to be a mix of young people and middle aged, some dressed in club wear, and some obviously wealthy in more formal robes, and even Muggle suits. It was an odd mix, and she filed the information away, sure it was relevant but not sure why or how. The front of the club was unprepossessing, a simple neon sign in flowing cursive that simply said "Bacchanalia". She paused before debarking and Draco gave her a wicked grin.

"Like the name, I see. Knowing Blaise this should be quite a place."

"Are you sure this is a good idea? What if the press shows up?" He shrugged as they were ushered in past the line without having to say a word.

"Bugger the press, they probably know better than to show their noses around here." The noise was more subdued inside than out, a cute trick, Hermione thought briefly as Blaise Zabini walked up, dressed in a rich suit of Acromantula silk in a vibrant maroon and black. It showcased his dark looks to perfection and stated clearly exactly how well the club business was treating him. Draco gave a laconic smile to his old housemate and extended a hand. Blaise took it with a raised eyebrow and used it to lever the blond into a rough embrace. Only Hermione was able to register the surprise in her lovers eyes, and the flash of suspicion as he calmly accepted and returned the embrace.

"You've done well here," he said when Blaise broke the embrace and stepped back. The other looked around in satisfaction and montioned them to follow with a minute tilt of his chin.

"You know me, Malfoy, work within the system and make it work for you. After the war people wanted to forget the bad, have a little pleasure. That's where I come in. All sorts of people come here, you know, looking for escape. That's what I provide. The press know better than to try to come here, you needn't worry, though with that entrance it doesn't look like you're too concerned. Better to arrive with flair than sneak, yeah?"

"Exactly. I do as I like, that needs to be understood."

"Then you haven't changed so much in certain ways." Finally he looked at Hermione with an appraising, calculated stare that would have unnerved a lesser woman. She raised one eyebrow slowly and looked down her nose in her best impression of Narcissa Malfoy, the one female she equated with a superciliousness ingrained enough to freeze the balls off a yeti. To her shock Blaise nodded slowly and a rich smile broke over his face, perfect white teeth flashing in the subdued lighting.

"Hermione Granger, I wondered if you'd ever really come into your own, bravo. Never let us bastards beat you, did you? But Malfoy? I'm so much better looking and I'd make you queen of all this." She chuckled as Draco gave Blaise a look that promised death later.

"I think I can give Hermione a far more superior…" he trailed off in shock as she pinched his bum and grinned up at him.

"Shut up, Malfoy. I already picked you, you don't need to strut and preen." Blaise laughed aloud in delight at his momentarily nonplussed reaction, and gestured to a door off to the right.

"Damn, I would love to hear the story of the two of you sometime. The one you gave the papers was sweet but to anyone that ever knew Malfoy it's an utter crock of shit. At any rate, there is someone else here I think you might like to get reacquainted with. I could not have done most of this without his expertise and skill." His eyes softened with something that to Hermione looked suspiciously like affection, though seeing that on the face of a former Slytherin was a bit disconcerting. "He isn't much for the front of the house, he prefers to say back here developing our ambiance you might say." He opened the door and they stepped into a room that was far larger than it should be able to be in a building the size they were in. Hermione gasped, looking at the huge greenhouse that was currently in a state of artificial night, reflecting the time outside. There was even a simulated star and moonscape. She could pick out a figure carefully stroking pollen from a rare form of orchid, placing it into a tiny phial.

"Darling, they came." Draco's eyebrow flew nearly into his hairline at the term of endearment, and the fact that it was directed at someone obviously male. The figure straightened and turned and Hermione made a muffled squeak then ran for the man. He set the phial down and opened his arms, enveloping her into a hug that made Draco growl deep in his throat.

"Neville, Merlins ghost, I thought you were dead!" Neville Longbottom smiled quietly, patting her back, and met Draco's shocked eyes over her head.

"Apparently I'm not that easy to kill after all," he said quietly, rocking her like a child. "It's so good to see you Hermione. Malfoy," he nodded over her head, no rancor in his voice. Draco nodded back, still in a state of shock.

"Amazing how those Gryffindors grow on you, isnt't it?" Blaise asked quietly from his elbow. Draco didn't bother to respond, only crossed his arms over his chest.

"I always did think you were a poof." Blaise chuckled.

"Brilliant deduction there, Malfoy since I tried to seduce you through most of our school years, or had you forgotten?"

"I think I would remember being held against a wall and snogged under a sprig of mistletoe before Christmas holidays by a bloke, wouldn't I?"

"Dear Merlin, I had forgotten that. We couldn't have been more than second years, were we?" He laughed. "The look on your face was priceless. I don't think I had ever seen anyone look so utterly scandalized before. But this little reunion of our houses is only part of the reason I brought you here."

"I thought as much."

"It was Neville's idea, of course. The man can be surprisingly vicious when he wants to be, but he has his reasons. As you have guessed by now the clubs biggest draw is the wonderous concoctions we make and distribute inside, and the anonymity in which our clients can consume them and then celebrate their, ah, feelings. Neville grows the ingredients and we have a potioneer from France that would give Snape a run for his money. Acts a bit like him too, come to think of it, must be the fumes. At any rate, when I say all sorts of clients that's exactly what I mean. Especially ministry clients."

"And I assume you keep extensive records of the visits."

"You always were quick on the uptake." He took a tiny box from his jacket and handed it to Draco, who held it up, looking at the magical traces that showed the shrinking and lightening charms on it. "Use the information as you see fit; make them bleed." He sounded surprisingly bitter.

"This is personal for you."

"They nearly killed him." Draco followed his old housemates eyes to where Neville and Hermione were now talking quietly, their heads together. "After you were banished and everything started to go tits up in the Ministry they started seeing Death Eaters in every corner. The Aurors were doing a sweep one night; Neville was out tending a special patch of some type of moonflower when they came across him. They nearly beat him to death, hexed him into a coma, then when they realized they had attacked an innocent they left him there to die. I suppose they thought they could blame it on a real Death Eater attack. Thank Merlin I found him and got him to Saint Mungo's in time. He couldn't go outside for months afterward. He still can't stand to go outside alone after dark. Permanent spell damage they say, it's minor but it's there. That's why I created this place for him. He doesn't have to go outside to tend his plants. It's what makes him happiest, and by Merlin he's brilliant. He's developed strains of some more common ingredients so potent that brewing with them is downright dangerous for someone not used to them."

"So you're making what exactly, aphrodisiacs, hypnotics, and then letting the party go as it will? No wonder the press aren't allowed in."

"Nothing addictive or damaging, Neville won't stand for it, and there are laws against it. What I do is perfectly legal, actually. Now what some people get up to in here might be embarrassing in the extreme, but I don't allow anything criminal in here. I gave you those records knowing they will likely be the end of this place, but something needs to be done and Neville and I both think you two are maneuvering to do it. It needs to happen soon, Draco. I've got a bad feeling that there is something brewing in the government and if you don't make your move before then it'll have to be all out war again, and we can't take another war, it'll wipe us out. Besides, you'd make a shit Dark Lord." Draco barked a laugh at that, giving Blaise a considering look.

"You're serious about this, aren't you? All for Longbottom?"

"You'd do it for her, wouldn't you?" He sighed, thinking of exactly what he had already done for the sake of the swotty little know-it-all.

"I suppose you have a point. Thank you, and for her sake you have my word that I will only use this as a last resort. You have built a good thing here for yourselves. She would be, displeased, to see it destroyed for no reason."

"I think her displeasure would be a fearsome thing indeed." Draco snorted.

"You have no idea. You saw what happened to Greyback, it was in all the papers." Blaise nodded.

"She did that in the dark without a wand, just two knives and her bare hands."

"Dear Merlin. I always thought that Potter was the dangerous one in the Trio."

"Who do you think taught him most of what he used in the final battle?" Blaise looked at her again, a new respect in his eyes.

"Well, well, well. Perhaps someday you will tell me the real story between you."

"Perhaps," he said neutrally, sending the box to the manor with a thought and a gesture. He didn't notice Blaise's eye widen at the display of magic, then narrow consideringly.

"So, let's split them up, and then you can join the party. I have a lovely little elixer that should guarantee a fascinating evening. We call it Blue Bliss. It's the new rage."

"I think not, thanks anyway, I never take recreational potions, you know that." Blaise shrugged, and with the unspoken communion of long time lovers Neville nodded to Hermione and then back to his plants. They exchanged another hug and smile, and she walked back to Draco.

"You look happy." She nodded.

"Neville said he would come over in a few days and catch up. I heard about his attack just before I had to run, I thought he died in St. Mungo's. And with Blaise Zabini no less."

"It looks to be the real thing." She nodded.

"It is, at least for Neville. He's happy. What did you and Blaise talk about?"

"Several things, the past, the present, the future. The very near future, in fact. He had a gift for us. We'll look it over when we get back to the manor. For the nonce however," he smiled slowly. "I am in a very good mood after the conversation and I think we should see exactly what sort of debauchery those two have going in this place. It might appeal to us."

"Really?" They opened the door, neither noticing as Blaise stayed behind to talk to Neville, and walked down the hall into the club proper.


	28. Chapter 28 Bachannalia

**A/N: **

**This chapter is simply unadulterated smut that has little to nothing to do with the plot line and can be skipped for those of you more interested in plot than porn. I liked the scene, and since I've had some of you impatient people asking for at least a hint of lemon I decided to oblige. After all, even our conspirators deserve a little recreation sometimes, and oh what those naughty heroes of ours get up to! **_**grins evilly and rubs hands together**_

_**P.S. – If the idea of group and/or bisexual sex squicks you then skip along to the next chappy, won't you? Flames keep me warm but I prefer to keep them in the fireplace where they belong, so before you send one bear in mind that you were warned and proceeded anyhow, and therefore deserve what you get for your own stubbornness.**_

It was dark, with a heavy, spicy fragrance in the air, smoke blowing in from hidden places and pounding gothic music moving the dancers on the floor, lights flashing and strobing in time. They watched the dancers for a few minutes, accepting shots of firewhiskey from a passing waitress who had Draco thumb the charge slip to access his Gringotts account for the tab magically. The music was compelling and soon they found themselves out . on the floor gyrating and grinding to the hypnotic beat. Time seemed to pause, and Hermione felt as though everything was suspended in a throbbing haze of music and liquor. She was on at least her sixth fire whiskey and knew Draco had outstripped that long ago. She looked at him with slitted eyes, wanting nothing more than to climb him right there on the dance floor and wrap her legs around his waist. He saw her look and his eyes flashed. He yanked her against him, their bodies grinding in a sensual parody of the sex act that sent them both further into the haze.

Draco looked around as the song changed, the slight alteration of the heavy beat bringing him out of the trance he'd fallen into. He didn't see Hermione at first, then caught a glimpse of her kohl lined eyes and scarlet lips about six feet away, dancing with her eyes glazed and staring at the ceiling. He started to work his way over to her when a girl who looked strangely familiar gyrated into her from behind, bumping them slightly. Hermione looked over her shoulder in slow motion, and the girl turned, moving her dance to curve into Hermione's back, one hand coming to wrap over her waist. His breath caught at the blatantly erotic scene as Hermione simply let her head fall back onto the girls shoulder, her body never pausing in its gyrations, uncaring who her partner was. He finally made it to her, pressing against her front as the other pressed against her back. The other girl seemed as dazed and lost in the music as they, and she only reached for the front of his shirt, pulling him closer to Hermione.

They danced like that, losing themselves, losing time, losing everything to the spicy scent of the air and the floating billows of smoke. Draco felt a hand on his back, and looked around to see a phial of glowing blue potion being brought to his lips by a tall, powerfully built man dressed in club clothes. It never occurred to him to resist when his jaw was pulled down and the potion poured in before the man resumed dancing against him, reaching to take the hand of the woman who was behind Hermione, holding a similar phial to her lips. He watched her drink it down, some residual bit of logic telling him this was probably the Blue Bliss potion Zabini had been referring to, then the world exploded. His eyes unfocused, his body convulsed in pleasure so close to orgasm that he wasn't sure it wasn't, and his mind flew into the void. He vaguely heard Hermione cry out also, then suddenly all his senses seemed to sharpen by a factor of ten. He could see every pearl of sweat on her skin, every ripple in her muscles as she jolted in reaction to the potion. He vaguely registered that the other two were downing similar phials, but his real attention was caught when the womans hand cupped Hermione's breast, and her only reaction was to moan and thrust her hips at Draco. It was so incredibly erotic, so amazingly sensual. His hand lifted and caught the other one, making her eyes fall closed. He felt teeth close on the back of his neck and gasped, as much at a loss to care whose teeth, or why as she seemed to be. He saw her eyes flutter open as the woman licked the side of her neck, and her pupils dilated, fixed on him, and he realized someone was doing the same to him, and it was amazing. Slowly her hand rose and she turned his face to the side, and someone was kissing him, he could no longer concentrate enough on seeing to know who it might be, he only responded, dueling with teeth and tongue, then turning back to Hermione who seemed to be almost hyperventilating with arousal, one hand gripping his shirt, the other sliding up and down the thigh of the woman in back of her who was still fondling her. Dazed he mimicked her action, turning her head to the side and the woman obligingly kissed her deeply. He groaned, his cock so hard at the sight he could barely breathe. The kiss was going out of control, he helped the woman turn Hermione so they were pressed together, consuming each other as he pressed himself along Hermiones back, now fondling her breast, and sliding his hand between her thighs from the back. She cried out, and he realized his fingers had just tangled with someone elses at her core and he bit her shoulder hard as he realized the other hand must belong to her other dance partner. The other woman was staring at Hermione in a daze of lust, and Hermione grabbed her head, kissing her frantically.

"Oh bloody fucking hell," Draco groaned aloud at the sight. He could come just from watching but he wanted more than that. He felt someone tugging his hand and stumbled backward, bringing them with him by his hand in her dripping center. Suddenly they fell back onto something soft and yielding and a hand closed over his erection, pumping slow and strong. He shuddered, and his eyes rolled back in his head, dizzy with pleasure. It became confused after that, he was kissing someone again, but the taste was different than Hermione, or perhaps it was more than one person, and a hot mouth engulfed his throbbing cock, but it wasn't Hermione because dear Merlins bloody balls her mouth was between the other womans open thighs and she was licking, and it was too much, way too much and he exploded frantically, and she was looking over her shoulder at him, and the same frantic arousal was in her gaze as she looked at him, and she was chanting, he couldn't hear it, but her lips formed the words, "oh yes, dear gods yes" over and over, and the fog descended again.

It was all flashes after that, mouths and hands and pink female flesh and cocks and hands and mouths and he was holding her head as she bobbed up and down on his member and he felt something hot and hard probe between his cheeks, and when it entered he shouted in shock, then in pleasure as something seemed to explode inside him, and it was a different set of lips on his cock and Hermione's were on his, kissing him madly.

"Oh gods Draco, so amazing, looks so incredibly amazing," she whimpered, and he groaned and lifted her bodily so he could plunge his tongue into her wet folds, and then it was perfect, all the sensation he could handle all at once, and it went on and on. He lost count of the number of orgasms he had, and watched Hermione have. He didn't care who or what he was thrusting into or who was thrusting into him, there was only pleasure, it was bliss, and they were both lost to it.

Hermione awoke slowly, her eyes slowly adjusting to the low light. She frowned at the color of the ceiling above her. The mansion had white ceilings; this was red. She turned her head, moaning at the stiffness in her neck and jaw, and saw red drapes enclosing her, no, not just her…she saw Draco's platinum blond strands off to the left mixing with deep auburn, and tried to puzzle it out. She turned the other way to be confronted with deep ebony locks in rippling waves, and suddenly realized that these were _people_ other people they were tangled with, and she sucked in a breath of shock. Oh gods, they were naked, all of them naked, and ….she smirked, then tried to clap it off her face. No, she was _not_ smirking over what happened, what she was remembering had happened, but Merlin it had been incredible and, damn, smirking again. She didn't realize she'd said that aloud until Draco's head raised and he looked around, dazed. His eyes rested on hers finally and he yawned and smiled.

"Hello love, you're awake early. How do you feel?" She winced, then smirked again, unable to help herself.

"Sore, actually if you want the truth. Umm, you seem awfully calm." He yawned and reached over to take her hand.

"I don't know about you but I'm still half asleep, and I really would prefer to finish out the night in my own bed. Do you want to take your little plaything with us or leave her here?" She looked down to see that her hand was wrapped securely around the ebony haired girls round breast and flushed.

"I think I'd prefer to leave by ourselves if you don't mind. You wouldn't happen to know where our clothes went, would you?"

"I think they're over there." They both started at the sleepy masculine voice from the head of auburn hair on the other side of the bed. "Nice meeting the two of you, and all, but I'm going back to sleep. I'll tell Veronique you left your complements, she sleeps like the dead."

"Ah, yes, well, thank you…"

"Will," he offered, smiling. "I'm Will, that's Veronique. This place has a tendency to make good manners moot. I think it's a combination of the potions in the air, and that new Blue Bliss Zabini has been peddling. Don't worry if you don't remember everything right away, took us about a week to recall it all. We come back about once a month for it now. It hits like a trolls club, but once you remember what you did you thank Merlin for the memory." He grinned slowly at Draco and Hermione and laid back down. "I think the bastard might deserve extra for the stuff in gratitude for tonight. Hopefully we'll see you two around again, the press stay away for fear Zabini will kill them and hide the bodies, and hopefully your carriage had sense enough to leave. Theres an apparation point in the back by the restrooms, I'd take that."

Draco tossed Hermione her dress and boots, and donned what pieces of his clothing he could still find.

"Thanks for the advice, Will, and we will apparate out to skip the hordes. How did you know about the carriage?" Will picked his head back up off the pillow and blinked, obviously trying to clear his head.

Oh, that. We were in line when you arrived, besides, anyone who went to Hogwarts can recognize the Malfoy crest, even a lowly Hufflepuff like myself. I was a third year when you lot graduated. Granger and Malfoy, the way the two of you tangled we always wondered if there wasn't more to it than met the eye."

"Good Lord." Hermione blinked, then shook her head. "Will, I think I need to get home and get some more sleep. Thank you for, well, just thank you." He chuckled and let his head drop back to the mattress, asleep again within seconds. Draco and Hermione made it to the apparition point in the back with no problem and arrived in the main hall of Malfoy Manor with a groan.

"Gods I think my head is going to explode if I try anything like that again soon," Draco admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose. Hermione was occupied taking deep breaths to keep her stomach contents down.

"I hate side along apparition but I think I would have splinched myself otherwise. I am never apparating drunk again, never. Do you want a bath first or just some sleep? I really am not up to talking about what happened tonight…." She trailed off at his puzzled look.

"Talk about what? Gods woman, I'm too tired to reminisce right now. Sleep now, bath later, please. You aren't the only one who's a bit sore, you know."

Hermione decided they must both still be quite drunk to be so calm and allowed him to pull her up the stairs where they both collapsed into bed. Sleep happened in seconds.

The sunlight coming through the French doors to the balcony woke them several hours later, and just seconds after they both stirred there was a pop, and a pattering of footsteps.

"Mimsy heard the Master and the Mudblood whore come in very late, and Mimsy brings potions to help the Master and the Mudblood whore recover from a night of ridiculously common debauchery and the overabundance of drink." Hermione blinked at the foul words coming out of the mouth of the elf in such a tone of cheerful service. Draco groaned beside her and sighed.

"Thank you Mimsy, and in the future please simply address Hermione as Miss, if you would." The elf flapped her ears and smiled.

"Very well sir, if Master wants Mimsy to refer to the filth sullying Malfoy Manor as Miss, Mimsy will be happy to do so. Mimsy will draw Master and the Miss a bath as well. But you must takes the potions Mimsy brings for you or suffer the consequences of your night of common whoremongering."

"We will do so at once, I promise," he sighed, and she popped off, presumably to draw the bath.

"I'm sorry love, she doesn't mean it, truly. Honestly I really don't believe she has any idea what most of those words even means, she is just repeating what my father and mother used to say. That's why I keep most of the elves out of your presence, I haven't had time to see to their vocabulary yet." He risked a look over at Hermione who was busily downing potions.

"I know, it was obvious by her tone of voice that she had no idea that what she was saying was offensive, but by Merlin your family was a revolting bunch of bigots, weren't you?"

"You have no idea. No, perhaps you do, though you shouldn't. What's in those bottles?"

"Healing potion, hangover potion, pepper up I think and I've no idea what the last is but I feel lovely now."

"Good enough for me then, hand them over. I still feel like a hyppogriff is nesting in my skull. I haven't participated in a revel like that since, well, since Hogwarts really. Gods, I am getting old." She choked a bit, and gave him an astonished look.

"You mean you aren't angry with me, or shocked, or…" she trailed off at his blank look.

"Well, I suppose I'm a bit surprised, I didn't know you liked a girl on occassion after all, but it's just sex, love, what's to get upset over?"

"Draco! We both had relations with other people, and not just one other either or, oh bother you have no idea what I'm on about, do you?" The last was said in a tone of resignation, and he shrugged, then suddenly slapped his forehead, a grin breaking over his features.

"Of course! You're Muggleborn! I should have realized shouldn't I, that you'd have some of those odd Muggle attitudes towards sex. I've simply know you for so long and you seem so much a part of the wizarding world that I forget that you weren't raised with some of our culture and attitudes. Love, purebloods are far more accepting of sexual freedom than Muggles or even other wizarding levels of society. Maybe it's because we're all raised to believe that we should be allowed to do as we like from birth no matter what it is, or we are just more accepting, but something like last night is a rather common occurrence in younger pureblood circles. Granted we are technically a bit on the old side to be doing such things but only because most purebloods are married and locked into horribly restrictive Fidelius Charms by this point in their lives to secure legal heirs."

"So to you it's nothing to sleep with several people of mixed genders in a single night, not to mention all at the same time?"

"Well, not nothing certainly, that's what we would consider one hell of a good party." He laughed aloud and pulled her out of the bed, ignoring her scandalized look. "I didn't see you complaining last night, and there are memories coming back all the time. How did I not know you played both sides of the fence, anyway? Gods, had I known that at Hogwarts I might've got over my ridiculous prejudices quicker just so I could watch!" She gasped and smacked his arm.

"I might ask the same of you, you know. I never suspected, well, no I suspected in school, but before you started getting the reputation you did I thought for sure you had to be a pouf. After all, what teenaged boy looks so damned immaculate all the time?"

"One who had Unforgivables set on him for being anything other than that, thank you," he sniffed. "Rules for a Malfoy are not something you ever want to break, trust me. Do Muggles really think you have to chose what gender to have sex with? Isn't that terribly restrictive?"

"Oh, it gets worse. Most Muggles believe in only one partner at a time no matter what the circumstances, and many believe you should only have sex with one's spouse for the whole of one's life." He looked positively appalled and she laughed. "How did you manage to miss that living with them for a bloody decade?"

"I suppose it never came up. By the time I had changed enough to consider sleeping with a Muggle I had already found one I considered attractive, and I stayed with her for some time. Then when we parted ways I did play the field a bit, but I didn't even think about that sort of thing. I was too busy learning how to really live as a Muggle to concentrate on esoteric sexual mores. Wait a moment, does that mean you had never…" she flushed.

"Never been with someone of my own gender, never been with more than one person at once, never watched two people have sex, never taken any mind altering potions, shall I go on?" He shook his head.

"No, I think I get the picture. You seemed to enjoy yourself immensely, didn't you?" She flushed.

"I would say that was glaringly obvious, don't you think?"

"I suppose I shall have to be grateful to Zabini again then. Watching you was rather incredibly erotic. There is just something about two beautiful women pleasuring one another that does things to a mans mind." He smiled beatifically, and she splashed him with the bath water.

"That rather works the other way round, as well, come to find out," she admitted softly. "When I saw Will kiss you the first time I really thought I might burst into flames spontaneously. I'd no idea something like that would be that arousing. There really was no going back after that, at least not for me."

"I do vaguely recall that you seemed rather affected by it, though I didn't realize it was to that extent. So your Muggle upbringing didn't extend to prejudice against same sex coupling then?" She sighed.

"Oh, it tried to, and if you had asked me when I was sober I would have been appalled and disgusted, or at least convinced myself that I was."

"And now?" His brow furrowed, obviously concerned that she would now see him as less of a man for the previous nights acts.

"Now I think it was one of the most erotic things I've ever seen in my life. Actually most of the most erotic things I have ever seen I believe occurred last night. With one exception." He raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

"The first time I saw you standing at the window in the London flat, the one where I first found you. You were standing there in nothing but a pair of black lounge pants, your arms crossed, talking on your cell phone to someone, your hair just a bit mussed, and _that_ look in every line of your body, the "I'm the God of all I survey" look. I think I realized then that you were the most incredibly handsome, sexually appealing man I had ever seen. I haven't had cause to second guess that opinion yet." His look was nothing if not smug and she whacked his shoulder before being pulled into his arms.

"I'll tell you a secret, Granger, shall I? I wanted you within ten minutes of seeing you again, and I determined that if you stuck around for any time at all I would have you. Took me a fair bit longer to convince you than I thought it would, but I finally got you, didn't I? And now you're mine, and while I may willingly share you occasionally, the important bits belong to me."

"Important bits?" He nodded and laid a hand on her heart, then her forehead.

"That loyalty, and intelligence, and" he seemed to choke for a moment before taking a long breath. "And love." It was the first time she had ever heard him say the word even in passing. It was also the last word he had the chance to say for several very pleasurable minutes after.


	29. Chapter 29 A Most Slytherin PLan

"Sir, Mr. Weasley is requesting to see you." Draco grimaced. When was it that life had changed so much that he needed to associate amicably with Weasleys? Sighing, he motioned his secretary to allow the former Auror in.

"Weasley, I thought these companionable visits would cease once you sobered up enough to realize who it was that you were really talking to." To his credit Ron simply grimaced instead of coming back with the comment he was tempted by. Malfoy, no matter how reformed, was still a git in his book and would likely remain that way. But this was important and involved Hermione's safety and as such he would not allow Malfoys rotten disposition to affect him.

"This isn't exactly a social call, Malfoy, I don't exactly consider you a best mate, but I have come across some information that I think might be important. You need to listen to this." Draco frowned, then motioned the redhead to continue. He wasn't sure what Weasley could have found out that was so bloody important, he played professional Quidditch for Merlins sake, but he had learned never to turn down even possible sources of information.

"I was at an after party after the Match with Bulgaria last week; it was full of the rich and useless, like usual, but this time Karkaroff was there."

"The headmaster of Durmstrang, that Karkaroff?" Ron nodded. "Interesting, go on."

"Yeah, I didn't get that one either, except he seemed all cozy with the Bulgarian ambassador, who was also there. We all know from the Order that Karkaroff was a relatively high placed Death Eater, we just could never get the Bulgarian government to prosecute him, so I decided to have a bit of a listen. Old habits, I guess. Bloody good thing I did. They were discussing Shackelbolt, and where some of his policies are coming from. They were discussing how easily ideals fell to political realities, and if they had realized how simple it would be they would have abandoned Voldemort years ago and simply gone into politics. They said Shackelbolt had learned that quite quickly and now one of his closest advisors was one of them. He said, 'that vicious git has more lives than a kneazle. To think he made it out of Azkaban and even got MacNair to take the Kiss. I wonder how long before he removes the thorn in his side that his son has become? Maybe he'll get the little mudblood he's been parading around first. That will throw the whelp off balance enough that he'll be easy pickings.' Now, you tell me, doesn't that sound like your father is alive and out to kill both you and Hermione?"

Draco wanted to argue. He wanted to say he'd seen his father take the Kiss, shouting imprecations and loyalty to the Dark Lord to the last moment. Shouting…he paused. Shouting? That wasn't Lucius, was it? Lucius, even in the height of fury would never reduce himself to shouting, the angrier he was the quieter he became until his voice was nothing but a cutting hiss. If you had to lean closer to hear him that meant violence was about to erupt. He had never thought about that, never even considered questioning it. MacNair had been sentenced to the Kiss too, and he was a lout, loud and brutal. It made sense. Once the Dementors had been replaced with human guards corruption in Azkaban had run rampant. With Lucius money and connections a few vials of polyjuice would have been simple to acquire. The more potent variety that held the look for several hours, even in death would have been no obstacle. So, get MacNair to take his place, die as a one of Voldemorts highest ranking Death Eaters, the crazy git would have loved it. Then polyjuice oneself as a guard, walk out, and there you were. Had there been any disappearances of guards around that time. He knew there had been, several were killed by Death Eaters still on the loose, some bodies were found, some weren't. It made sense. He noted that Weasley was watching him and sighed.

"What?" Ron shook his head.

"So, do you know what you'll do?" Draco barked a laugh.

"Well, first I'm going to the Manor and pull his portrait out of the basement and see if it's active. If it is we'll know he's dead. All our family portraits are like the Hogwarts headmasters portraits. If the old bastard is alive, then I suppose I'll need to find him and kill him before he gets to Hermione and I. It's a complication that we did not need."

"You know, as a former Auror and a citizen I'm obliged to report that you have said outright that you intend to commit a premeditated murder." Draco saw a dark humor in the redheads eyes and snorted.

"Shall I get you a two way mirror to facilitate the process?" Ron smiled.

"No, actually I was going to offer my help. Hermione used to be a good friend, nearly a sister. I ruined that and I know it, but if I can help save her life I will."

"Redemption Weasley, really?"

"I know, 'Griffyndors!', right?" Draco smirked.

"Exactly. But as a Slytherin I don't turn down resources. How do you think you can help me?" Ron took a deep breath and nodded.

"I still have the training book for the investigators listing every procedure the Aurors have in place for detecting certain magics and spells, identifying killers and collecting evidence. I also know where the Minister keeps his personal files. My girlfriend is in the Department of Magical Records. She can get any files you want. She's already agreed to help."

"You've talked to her about this? Who is she?"

"Luna Lovegoods cousin, her name is Pamela Marks. She went to Beauxbatons; you wouldn't have known her. Luna is one of the only people who stayed loyal to Hermione, even after all these years, and she told Pam the whole story years ago, the Order of the Phoenix, the Horcrux hunt, the murder of Dumbledore, she knows all of it and hasn't said a word in ten years. For the record she didn't think even your sentence was fair. As much as I'd like to say otherwise, hell, neither do I. But you're still a git."

"Thank Merlin. I don't think I could stand having a Weasley in my fan club. That being said, when Hermione makes me throw my hat in the ring for Minister when the campaigning starts in a few months do I have your vote?" Ron barked a laugh and shook his head.

"You really are a piece of work, Malfoy. Yes, I'll vote for you simply to get Shackelbolt out. I think you're nuts to want it, though. The real power isn't with the minister, he's just the front man for the special interest groups. Nope, you really want power, be the head of the Wizengamot. Now, there's a position where you can get something done." Malfoy sat back and blinked. Merlins knobblies, out of the mouths of babes and fools. There was no possible way he could ever become the head of the Wizengamot, the thought itself was ridiculous, but he thought he knew who could.

"Weasley, do you know know if Amos Diggory is still alive?" Ron blinked at the question but nodded.

"Yeah, he's head of the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, why?"

"I think I have the beginnings of a plan, a most Slytherin plan, in fact."

"If someone else has to be the Head of the Wizengamot, then at least you can be the neck, eh? How do you aim to get Diggory in?"

"I don't… That's where you come in. You and that convenient werewolf brother and Veela sister in law. Do you think it would be very difficult to get William interested in politics?"

"Not if you interest Fleur first, and I think I can help with that." He snorted suddenly and then vigorously rubbed his face with a hand. "Just feature it, me working hand in glove with a Malfoy. Sometimes I think I picked a hell of a time to stop drinking."


	30. Chapter 30 We Don't Need Another Hero

The first owl landed on his desk at seven o'clock that morning.

Getting owls at that hour was not unusual; Draco had taken to starting his day at barely seven simply to try to get enough done so he wasn't playing catch up after meetings for the rest of the day. No, the owl wasn't the problem, it was the parchment attached to it.

The writing was uneven, loopy and inexpert, more the out of control wiggling of youth than the spidery shake of age. But that wasn't the problem either. No, the problem was the content. Draco read it over at least four times, and each time he shook his head and read again. It was as he was about to read it for the fifth time in the vain hope that possibly the script would have magically changed that he realized he was being ridiculous and instead apparated directly into his own bedroom, the crack bringing Hermione out of a sound sleep.

"This is not happening." She blinked owlishly at his taut, agitated expression and tried to focus on the parchment in his hand.

"What isn't happening?" She tried to reach for the letter but he paced past without even noticing and shook the offending parchment again.

"Really, is there anything about me that cries 'hero' or 'saviour' to anyone with half a brain or a modicum of common sense? No! I have never made one promise to anyone to do anything at all noble, the very concept is ridiculous, and yet, somehow, this..this…thing comes in by owl this morning! What the bloody hell does anyone expect, that I'll come sailing in on a golden broom, wave my hand and fix everything? It's preposterous!"

"Draco!" He stopped at her shout and finally looked back to where she was sitting on the bed, glaring at him.

"Merlin's nobblies, woman, there's no need to shout I'm right here."

"In body perhaps, but I think your mind departed some time ago. Now what the bloody hell are you talking about?" He walked over and stuffed the letter under her nose.

"This! What on earth am I supposed to do with something like this?" Hermione recognized the childishness in the script immediately and glanced quickly over the letter, her eyebrows climbing as she did so.

" 'And since Hagrid says that if you have a problem then you should take it to someone who you can trust to help then I am writing to you since you are on the board of Governors and my father says that you might be the first decent man in the Ministry in a decade. But please do something quick because Wallace won't tell and I'm afraid that when term lets out and he has to go home then he won't last to come back next term. He doesn't think anyone can help, but I think you can. Please, you will help, won't you?' " She was tearing up by then, and chuckling at the same time.

"Well, we were going for the young vote, I think you did a bit of overkill, though."

"Hermione! That childs' friend is going home at the end of term to a family that mistreats him terribly and you're cracking jokes? What if the blighters do kill the little thing, what then? I'm not bloody Robin Hood or Merlin, what does this child expect from me?"

"I suspect he hopes for the one thing everyone hopes for, to know someone out there is on his side. Obviously the childs father works at the Ministry and you've made quite the impression with him, what do you think you should do?"

"If I knew that would I have come to you? You can't know what it's like to be so young and know that when you get home…" he trailed off and she realized why the letter had such an effect on him.

"Draco, if you want to do something, do something. Talk to MacGonagall, Floo Childrens Service, hex the father so badly he won't be out of hospital until next term, but do not pace around our bedroom because you feel strange about having an altruistic urge."

"That is hardly the point."

"No, the point is that you aren't comfortable with the fact that despite all your wishes to the contrary you are a decent man, perhaps even a good man, and the plight of a helpless child bothers you. Get over yourself, darling, and go help the boy. Do it in a particularly nasty manner if it bothers you so much."

"I..that's…dammit!" He strode out of the bedroom a moment later casting her a heavy glare. Hermione simply yawned, stretched and padded for the shower.

"Mr. Malfoy, without the testimony of the child or any corroborating evidence I do not know what it is you expect me to be able to do. I would like nothing more than to help, but unless the child comes forward my hands are tied."

"You don't understand what it is like for a child like that, Headmistress," he snapped, glaring into the Floo. "That sort of child is completely convinced that nothing in the world can help him, and that adults of all kinds are enemies to be feared even more than the abuser. Is there any wonder why that is? Of course not. Whoever the bastard is that is abusing the child is vested in convincing the child of this. Do you even know what child I am referring to? Have there been signs?"

"Wallace Prewett, yes, I know who the child is. I have suspected for quite some time that all was not right at home for the boy, but no matter how I broach the topic he skitters away from me as though I were poisoned. The family is too influential for me to have been able to secure an inspection by Childrens Service as well, and believe me I tried. I am at my wits end."

"Prewett, you say? The Pureblood Prewett's that are related to the Weasley's?" McGonagall nodded sharply.

"The same. Generally they were regarded as a decent family, I do not know why this situation has arisen."

"Thank you for the information, Minerva." She frowned into the Floo and put a hand out.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are not planning on doing anything rash, are you? Yours is a very precarious position. I would not like to see it jeopardized."

"I am nothing if not cautious, you know this. I will owl you when the situation has been resolved. In the meantime tell the boy to plan on not returning home for the break. I believe there will be other circumstances that prevent it."

With the resources at his disposal it took less than two days to learn all he needed. Ian Prewett, pureblood pillar of society and careful neutral in the second Voldemort war, had a taste for a very expensive, very illegal recreational potion. A derivative of the famous Wolfsbane potion, this one caused a euphoric state that lasted days, superhuman amounts of strength and amazing reflexes. It also, in almost every case, eventually caused madness and impotence. Apparently Prewett was now in the downward spiral of the addiction cycle and decided to use his son as the punching bag to take out his frustrations on. He also, in his madness attempted to use the boy to tempt his flagging libido in ways that literally made Draco's stomach churn with revulsion. There was no question in his mind about what had to happen. Prewett junior was a Slytherin, there were masks to maintain and reputations to keep up. He would be no help at all if all the sordid details were released, and if he had the boy removed from the home that was precisely what would happen. No, better to make the break clean, then the entire nasty mess could be carefully ignored as such things were, and McGonagall could, under different guises, get the boy the time he needed with the mind healers.

In the end it was the simplest thing in the world. There wasn't a lot in the world that _didn't_ react in some form or another with Wolsbane, hence why the poor lycanthropes couldn't take a sleeping or calming draught at the full moon. Creating a potion that was similar to what he was already used to, the addition of a root that would react fatally in minutes but then pass through his system and magic like water through a sieve. Now, he would distribute it through certain channels and soon Prewett would no longer be an issue. Young Prewett would be rid of the father, the estates would stay with the mother until Wallace graduated Hogwarts and took over the management of his inheritance. It would be perfect.

"You have got to be kidding me." He whirled, finding Hermione glaring at him, hands on her hips. He set the lethal flask gently down on the workbench and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Something I can help you with, love?" She frowned and pointed to the potion beside him.

"If you even try to get that slipped to Ian Prewett you're an idiot. Don't think I don't know how your mind works, Draco Malfoy. Didn't you recall that the Ministry has been working on a method to track the magical signature associated with spells and potions? You are already on file because of your record. If even one Auror has the brain to pick that phial up and have it tested you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban." He paused, more surprised by the fact that she seemed to object more to his execution of the plan than the plan itself, then what she said seemed to sink in.

"Damn. No, that pertinent fact had rather escaped me. So, your thoughts?"

"You're assuming I care at all."

"It's a child, Granger, of course you care. Even I care, and I'm a bastard." She chuckled, shaking her head and vanished the potion with a wave of her wand.

"All right then, yes I do care, and I would love to see him swinging from his entrails on his own front gate, but it takes planning. We can make it look like an accident, all it takes is time and money and we have plenty of both."

"Not too much time though, there is a deadline here, pardon the pun."

"I wouldn't worry too much about that, love. We'll make it."

Two weeks later Ian Prewett died face down in a bowl of fish stew having ostensibly choked on a bone. Prewett had taken to renting his house elves to other families to bring in additional capital and was alone in his Manor at the time. His son Wallace was named the new head of the Prewett family. No one shed a tear at the funeral, including the new Prewett heir, and that summer the young Prewett, as he was hosting a house party for several school friends, stumbled upon a room in the house that had been sealed for likely several hundred years. Inside were enough treasures and antiques to replenish the vaults that his wastrel father had emptied and restore the decaying manor to its former glory. Hermione noted that several smaller artifacts around Malfoy manor seemed to go missing around that same time, and reappeared after the auction. She said nothing.


	31. Chapter 32 Hunting Season

The box from Zabini contained both less and more than was expected. There were not compromising wizarding photos, there were not dated records of the recreational activities of the guests. It was packed instead with transcripts of conversations and meetings, papers left unguarded by Ministry employees who should have known better than to keep them in an unwarded briefcase. Was there blackmail here? Of course, he could cause horrible dissent and mischief in the Ministry and ruin the lives of many prominent figures in government. But that was not what he wanted.

Influence is the currency of politics, and the transcripts and documents were, to the experienced eye, a snapshot into every level of power play, a full roadmap to the innermost workings of the very structure he wanted to bring to its knees. It was everything they had ever wanted, and it could not have come at a better time.

"Nettle!" An elf popped into view, bowing low. "Fetch Hermione, I need to show her this."

"The Mudblood whore is in the salon talking with the portrait of the blood traitor and disgrace to the name of Malfoy, Master sir, and she is most upset when elves disturbs her." He sighed and quelled an urge to rub his hand over aching temples. He really did need to see to changing the elves vocabularies, but there always seemed to be so many other things vying for his attention, and despite their language all of them were fanatically loyal to Hermione once they realized she would no longer try to trick them into accepting clothes.

"I'm sure once she sees what I have to show her she won't be upset at all, Nettle, truly. And this is quite important. If she fusses too much about it tell her to have that bloody interfering ancestor of mine drag her arse out of her portrait and come eavesdrop from the landscape there in the corner." Nettle looked dubiously at him but vanished with a crack. Hermione apparated in a few moments later, eyebrows raised.

"Draco, we really do have to have a meeting with the elves about their language, I realize they don't really understand what they are saying is offensive, but…" he held up a hand, cutting her off in mid-tirade and pointed to the stack of papers on the desk.

"I was just thinking the same thing myself, honestly, but not now. " He handed her a sheaf of papers. Her frown turning to one of curiousity she took them and began to glance down through. Midway down the first page she gasped and held one hand out. A chair skidded across the rug, the back smacking solidly into her palm and she she sat down, never taking her eyes off the paper. Draco's eyes widened. He had not realized that she had been attempting to learn wandless magic, not to mention had grown so proficient. Almost automatically he glanced to the picture on the wall above the desk, and nodded in acknowledgement of the figure now standing the forefront.

"So, you've been teaching her our language and coaching her as well, I assume?" She shrugged.

"Wands are useful toys, but only that. Once she began to truly understand her heritage she saw that the tool she had believed so precious was only a crutch."

"Her heritage? You can't be serious, she's muggle-born."

"She is fey, just as you are, just as most of the powerful witches and warlocks are. Not pure fey by any means, but enough of our blood remains."

"Potter as well?" She paused at this and a small frown creased her brow.

"No, not him I do not believe. Potter is, other. I have my suspicions but I cannot know for certain. This two dimensional existence…limits me."

"What do you believe then? It would possibly be beneficial to know, especially now."

"Ah, so now I become of use to you then. It has ever been the Malfoy way, I suppose. What of those papers?"

"Conclusive evidence that my father is teaching Potter the dark arts, for one. Conclusive for me at any rate, and I think Hermione understands as well. A location, one we will have to have checked. I know Potter did not put his new residence under Fidelius as Grimmauld was, but the Ministry has kept the location very hush hush. Until now. Notes of private meetings, transcripts of conversations that happened in Zabini's club. The fools should have known better than to speak so openly, how would they not realize that he could have blackmailed the lot of them."

"They never realized it because he never gave them reason," Hermione said simply, looking up. "Everyone wants a safe place they can go and be as like and do as they like. Zabini created that place in Bachannalia. He lured them with the promise of all the debauchery they could ever want in a setting that would be absolutely inviolate, and there is nothing that people want more than a privately public place to indulge. Over time he made it clear that there was no place safer for them to be as they wished. They let their guard down."

"And forgot that you never allow your guard down around a Slytherin." She nodded in acknowledgement and gave him a tight smile.

"He has to have been collecting this for years, waiting for the right time and the right set of circumstances to use it. He wants revenge for Neville with a determination I have rarely seen." Draco understood Zabini's motivation completely. It was something Hermione was only still beginning to learn. Growing up in Slytherin was far different than any place else. While guile, deception and manipulation were the lifeblood of Slytherin, there was also a strong core of loyalty. Slytherins stuck together against all others come what will, and a Slytherin's loyalty, once earned, was something to be prized. Longbottom had somehow earned both Zabini's loyalty and love. There was nothing the man would not do for him now, whether it be to kill or die for him, go to Azkaban or receive the Dementors Kiss itself. And Blaise wanted revenge for its own sake as well. Yes, he had likely been working on the plan for years, and if necessary he would have waited more years until he was in position to strike.

"If anyone finds out we know all this it will ruin him. They will realize that the club is the only common denominator."

"He knows." She cast him a sideways glance, as if measuring him, then nodded.

"All right. Then first we find your father. He may lead us to other things; at the least we will neutralize a threat."

"You can say it, love, this house is no stranger to patricide, it is the prevailing way an inheritance happens. We will find Lucius and then we will kill him. We must."

"I, Draco he is your father despite it all. Will you be able to…" she trailed off and he had to stifle a sigh. Her childhood had been far different than his own, filled with loving, supportive parents who nurtured and loved her. His had been blood and pain from his earliest memory, his only affection coming from some few house elves, his godfather, and the occasional vague regard from his mother as she acknowledge what a fine thing she had done in giving a son in the first child so there was no reason to have more. He had never enjoyed killing, not even in the height of the war, had seen it as a necessary chore to secure a win. If anything was disturbing him now, it was that there was perhaps a slight eagerness this time. He wanted Lucius to be dead, wanted to be sure the world, _his _ world, was cleansed of the evil that was his father. He thought perhaps that it was a telling thing about his own character that it took this to make him look forward to killing with anticipation. He did not even wish Potter dead so badly as he did Lucius.

"It is complicated, but trust me when I tell you there will be no hesitation." He said only, and perhaps she did understand, Merlin knew she had gotten closer than anyone still alive to seeing what his life really was, what his father had made it. There were still memories he shied away from, memories of what they had had to do for the so-called greater good, memories of the atrocities committed by people he had grown up with, by his own blood. Even if he had had never suffered at Lucius hands himself he would do it simply from the memory of Lucius at one of the more horrendous of the revels, of the little Muggle girl no older than ten, perhaps not even that, screaming as his father fucked her while strangling her, his pleasure increased by her thrashing out her life force impaled on his cock. Hermione had not been there, he thought, though he suspected she had perhaps worse memories of that night than even he, as Voldemort had called both she and Bella to attend him in his private chambers that night. He had not seen her for two days after that night. Severus had been as close to frantic as Draco had ever seen him, and when Hermione had reappeared on the third day, pale, hollow eyed and silent she had gone straight past them all, up the stairs into the bath at Grimmauld Place and the water had run and run and run.

A hand on his brought him back to the present with a jolt and he looked down, noting that the marble edge of desk that he had been holding onto had cracked and the wooden leg supporting it to begin to blacken and char. He took a deep breath and passed his hand across the damage, leaving it pristine again.

"Mind the furniture," she said quietly, no rancor or overt concern in her voice. She knew him well enough to let him be for a few minutes after such a reaction. She knew he despised the visual evidence of his emotional turmoil, knew that he hated to be seen in less than perfect control unless in a moment of passion, and she allowed him the space to put the mask in place. After a few moments of concentration he looked to the portrait again, irritated to see the small smile of his ancestress.

"What are you so happy about, construct? Do you enjoy our discomfort?"

"I am merely pleased to see that our power has found a home in you," she smiled. "It comes so naturally to you now, magic bending to will as it should be. Do you still fear our language?" He opened his mouth, then frowned and shut it again. Truthfully he had lost the fearful respect he had of it, his days ago conversation with the portrait and her instruction on the theory and history of it from the perspective of one who spoke it simply as a conversational tongue had stripped much of the mystery away. He knew logically that he could say three words and strip the sanity of most wizards in hearing distance, but he could just as simply speak different words that meant simply 'hello'.

It was as if he could feel himself forgetting the wizarding ways he grew up with his entire life as the magic around him began to respond more and more to his will alone. He had not needed a wand since he was in his teens, but until recently he had thought the names of the spells as he cast, first in English, then Latin, then lastly in Ivernic as he grew more and more proficient in the casting. Now the magic seemed to leap to his merest thought. He was starting to forget the incantations of spells. He could do them all, but he did not need words or wands, simply will alone.

"I fear very little anymore. That is perhaps the greatest fear I have. Overconfidence has proven the downfall of all the mightiest."

"A wise concern, young one, but groundless so far, I think. You have such promise, I have hoped for someone like you for to be born for a very long time. You must give yourself to the magic completely, you know, if you wish to prevail. Even the smallest bit that you hold back will be your undoing. Fey magic is not destructive in and of itself, there must always be impetus. This is true also on the other side of things. Our magic is based in the world itself, we are one with it on a fundamental level."

"And Potter. You said you did not think he is fey, if not then what?" She sighed and he saw fleeting sadness in her eyes.

"I cannot be sure, even I was not that old, but I think perhaps there is nephilim magic in him." Draco frowned and shrugged, but Hermione was wide eyed.

"Never heard the term, what is a nephilim, a magical beast of some sort?"

"Draco, a nephilim is a fallen angel. She is trying to say Harry has, well, I can't explain it."

"If I am correct Potter draws his power from the otherworld, it is not stronger than the power you wield, but it is different, and such magics were never meant to collide. I fear it will be quite, volatile."

Potter, he suspected, was more to be pitied than anything else, and putting him down would be a mercy not only on the wizarding world, but for Potter himself. He recalled Potter as a boy, filled with the zeal to do good and save the world and he could not help believing that somewhere in the madness that core remained, and that the small boy inside was screaming in horror at what he had become.


	32. Chapter 33 Beautiful Slumber

Harry felt it like the start of a toothache, really. It was an itching, uncomfortable sensation in the back of his head, almost a buzzing of worry, concern, he didn't like to say paranoia though that might be more accurate, but that made him sound unreliable, and Merlin forbid that he might be that. Still… He prowled up from his desk and over to the coffee urn, then back without looking at his fellow Aurors in the bullpen. Nobody said anything, most of his co-workers like to avoid his notice these days, and he didn't mind a bit. He'd been sorry to see Ron go in a vague sort of way, but the man had been going soft, losing that edge that was needed to really get the job done, so it wasn't any great loss. Ron had always been better at Quidditch than anything else, and having to constantly push him into making the hard choices had worn on Harry to the point that he'd nearly Crucio'd Ron in pure frustration, and somehow he didn't think their friendship would be the same after that.

The buzzing in his head continued and he rubbed at the spot in frustration and discomfort, his eyes flickering around the room. Fuck it, there was nothing he was really going to accomplish today anyway, no point in sticking around when he was sure everyone was watching him behind his back. What's Potter going to do to embarrass us today? Fuckers. He growled, making an intern jump and skitter out of his path, and stormed out, rubbing his head with his wand, muttering.

His feet directed him, they were starting to do that more and more, and sometimes he didn't really like where they went. The other day he had found himself in a park and Ginny was there with the children and her new husband. He had almost gone up to Albus before he stopped himself, frowning. Albus looked so much like him that it was uncanny. It made him nervous. He realized he hadn't seen them in most of a year, couldn't remember if he sent presents at Christmas or not. Work was hard, they would understand that, there was always something to be done. He thought of the fact that his children were growing up without their father just as he'd grown up with no parents and guilt slammed hard into him. But it wasn't his fault, he excused. There was crime, there was no one else who could do what he did. He was doing this _for _ them. Children do not understand the big picture, his mind told him. They just know that Dad doesn't see them anymore. He felt a sudden burst of fury so strong it almost sent him to his knees and sneered at the children. What did they know of duty? Of responsibility? They should be grateful, the little demanding, whinging blighters, if only they knew… He shook his head and Apparated away, fighting the urge to run up and shake, and shake and shake them until they understood, until they stopped forcing these demands on him. He took out a bottle when he got home that night. It was gone by morning and so was most of his memory of the night. That was probably a relief.

He looked up, wondering where his feet had taken him this time and recognized that he was in the vicinity of Lucius bolt hole. He frowned. Lucius was useful, he knew all the best spells, but Kingsley was listening to him too much. Harry didn't like anyone but him listening to Lucius and he didn't want to listen to the man unless he was teaching him something. But his friends were there. He could sit among them and they would speak of sunshine and warm rocks and food and it was so simple and relaxing that he would even sleep among them. He didn't sleep well at night, hadn't even after Voldemort was dead and the nightmares stopped. Well, those nightmares anyway. There were always new ones to take their place. He heard two sharp bangs, and the buzzing in the back of his head seemed to explode in agony, then there was nothing.

He awoke not long later, his head splitting but pain free, in a doorway where he must have stumbled upon passing out. Strange, he'd lost time before, but usually it wasn't so painful. He struggled up, stiff and cold from the hard concrete of the step and struggled on.

He knew there was something amiss from the moment he walked onto the street where the safe house was located. There was magic here, not here now, but just here, magic he knew. Malfoy. Not Lucius, Draco. His teeth bared and he charged into the house, then tripped over something in the front hall and landed face down on the rug. He swore, about to pull himself up when he realized his hand was in something warm and wet. He raised his head and recoiled in disgust when he saw his hand covered in half congealed blackening blood. He staggered to his feet, only now noticing that it was Lucius' snake headed cane that he had tripped on, and stepped over it.

The body behind it had been carefully arranged on its back, robes draped modestly, hands crossed across the abdomen almost as if in repose. There were two silver coins on the eyelids to seal them shut, and even the blond hair had been smoothed back into place. Only the small round hole in the center of the forehead, and its mate placed directly over the heart, well, and the huge puddle of blood, he admitted, gave lie to the look of sleep on Malfoy's face. It was as if the murderer wanted to preserve Malfoy's dignity even in death, how pointless, he thought. Death was never dignified, and for Malfoy it was likely less so. That Draco had killed his father Harry did not doubt in the slightest, he could almost taste Draco's magic in the place, but it didn't matter. He knew he couldn't arrest the man, not for this. Malfoy senior was supposed to be dead already, so how would one go about arresting the son for the murder of the father. He thought about Shackelbolts likely reaction to the situation and laughed uproariously. It was priceless, he was going to be furious, and probably do something stupid. Harry felt little beyond a vague disappoinment that Lucius would not be around to teach him any more spells. He'd always been so _interesting_ in that supercilious way of his. He paused then, and sped for the special room in the back of the house. A curious hissing greeted him, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief that not only had Malfoy left his friends alone, but the wards on the room had held so they could not find themselves outside in the cold London winter where they would surely die. He stepped past the wards, Lucius predicament already consigned to the realm of gossip to share with his friends. He didn't even bother to shut the front door.


	33. Chapter 34 Loose Ends

The doing of the thing had been almost anticlimactic, which he supposed was both a blessing and a curse.

He had followed the spell for nearly a day, tracking every trace of Malfoy blood that it located, finding that not only was his family significantly smaller than it had been ten years ago, but that there were at least three skeletons in the Malfoy closet living in Muggle London. Bastard squibs, he realized, after popping in on one who bore such a striking resemblance to himself that he was quite certain that the boy had to have been a by-blow of Lucius probably, he thought with more disgust than he had felt in some time, the product of a Voldemort inspired revel where raping Muggle women for sport seemed to be the entertainment of sport. Apparently they'd decided not to kill all of them when they were done. The boy was likely around sixteen, which matched up quite well with the timeline, and he could have been Draco's twin at that age. Draco resisted the urge to go up and introduce himself. The boy looked happy and well adjusted, and was obviously not a wizard. Why disturb his life and break the Statute of Secrecy. It would profit no one. He silently wished the boy well and went on to the next trace.

He found his father in a well appointed town home in East London, the Muggle section, which was actually a better circumstance than he could have hoped for. He watched the place for several hours before he actually saw his father pass in front of the windows and pour himself a glass of wine. Nodding, he removed the small witches glass from his pocket and tapped it. Weasley's face appeared, looking pale and grim.

"Go, I've found him." Ron nodded once and his face disappeared from view. Ten minutes later the glass warmed in his pocket and he removed it to find Weasley back in the glass.

"I have the Ministry bonded receipt, I don't think the Magister even knew what the hell he was signing. Good luck." Draco nodded and slid the Muggle handgun out of his pocket, crossing the street and knocking firmly on the door.

Lucius answered personally, and froze just for a moment at the sight of his son on the doorstep. Draco fired one shot and Lucius looked down at the suddenly dribbling hole in his chest in surprise and some consternation. Draco had no wand, no talisman, and the shock was so sudden that he did not yet even register pain. Without hesitation Draco raised the gun higher and pulled the trigger again, the bullet striking true right in the middle of his forehead. Lucius dropped like a stone. Draco used magic to arrange the body in the dignity befitting a Malfoy, and Accio'd the Malfoy signet ring from Lucius finger to his own hand. The fact that the ring came at all was his proof that Lucius was well and truly dead. He felt nothing. There was no triumph, and also no regret. Perhaps there was a sense of relief and the feeling of one more loose end being tied up, but he no longer hated Lucius as he once did. No, in the end Lucius was a pathetic bigot who had been easily dispatched by a Muggle method because he was so ignorant of the culture that he had never bothered to question what the twisty looking bit of metal in his sons hand was for. It had been easier than Stunning fish in a barrel. He walked back down the walk leaving the door open so someone would realized something was amiss and contact the authorities. Hopefully the body would be discovered soon. He apparated to the front steps of the Ministry, arriving by coincidence just as Weasley came through the doors.

"It's done," he said quietly, then looked at the gun still in his hand and shuddered, vanishing it. To his credit Weasley didn't say anything at all, only nodded and motioned to a pub across the street. Draco agreed with an answering nod, and they headed over.

Feeling came back after the second shot of Firewhiskey, and Draco realized that shock had had more to do with his lack of reaction than anything else. It annoyed him as much as he did understand it. He'd done more than his share of killing in the war, but this was the first time he had committed what he could not help but think of as cold blooded murder. Weasley seemed to understand this instinctively and simply sat, waiting for Draco to get his head around it.

"He didn't even realize what I was about," he finally said, apropos of nothing. "He just stared at me. I wasn't holding a wand or talisman or something recognizable from our world so it apparently did not even occur to him that he was in danger. I haven't had to use a wand since I was fifteen, did he not remember that? Did he think I didn't have the courage? I, there was supposed to be something more, even a token of resistance, something. He just stood there and then he looked so surprised, as if he couldn't comprehend that I had done him damage. I shot the second time as much just to wipe that look form his face, that gormless, stupid look as I did to make sure it was done. Gods!"

"You've done the right thing, Hemione is safe from him now, so are you for that matter. That's the main thing, yeah? It's ok to be a bit in the weeds from it. It isn't like it was in the war, I get that. There it was all right at the second, pause and you're dead kind of stuff. This, well, it was life or death but not the immediate kind. Same thing needed to be done, just makes it harder to do it."

"Did you kill anyone as an Auror?" Ron nodded, grimacing.

"Yeah, a few times. Never got better. It's when it does that you have to worry, right? Come on, I'll Floo you home, you need to talk to Hermione before the press or the Aurors do. You know legal or not this is going to cause one hell of a stench, and she needs to know so she can be prepared." Draco nodded, and rose stuck between wanting to thank the other man, and yet such friendly words seemed to stick halfway down his throat and refuse to come higher. Ron looked at him and snorted.

"Yeah, you're welcome, feels bloody weird to me to say it either. Guess you aren't a complete git, Malfoy. Well, not always anyway. Good luck dealing with Hermione, I'm betting she's going to be all the danger you can handle once you admit you refused to include her in this." Draco stepped into the flames with those words ringing in his ears, and the first word out of his mouth as he stumbled out of his own fireplace at home said it all.

"Shit."


	34. Chapter 35 Awakening

"So, it's done then?"

Draco actually thought that suppressing the instinctive wince at being caught out mere seconds after he stepped from his own fireplace was an accomplishment on his part. She had been waiting, that much was made obvious by the half empty wine glass in her hand, and the fact that though he had emerged in the foyer fireplace, there was a chair and small side table a few feet away that was never normally present. He was, however, beginning to wish he could find out where she got her information. It was uncanny. There was no point in being evasive so he merely nodded.

"It is."

"And I trust there will be no legal repercussions, at least none traceable to us?"

"It was done perfectly legally according to the old chartered blood laws, there is nothing the Ministry can do, even if they were foolish enough to try, and even Shackelbolt is not that much of a convenient idiot."

"Well, that's one less thing, isn't it? I can't say I'm sorry, he's an equally unpleasant bastard dead as he was alive. It was a bit startling to hear him sneering blood purity nonsense at me in the study as I was finishing some owl correspondence, but his insults seem to hold far less of my attention now that he's only oil, canvas and enchantment."

_The portrait, of course. Should have burned the bloody thing…well, perhaps not that, it could be useful after all, but at least stuck it in some far corner of the uppermost attics._

"I think I should speak to him, would you care to accompany me? It should be amusing, at the least. I intend to announce my intention to make you Lady Malfoy." She smirked, and he marveled again at how natural the Malfoy smirk looked on her. He wasn't sure if she'd picked the habit up from Severus all those years ago or from himself more recently, but he found it utterly charming.

The expression on Lucius painted visage was indeed satisfying as they entered the study arm in arm. He opened his mouth, doubtless to spew some horrid vitriol, then paused, staring at the tattoo work down his sons wrist.

"Great Merlin, Draco, what is that on your arm? And why did you bring a filthy mudblood into the family home? Are you mad? Where is Cissa? Is the war finally won? Is this filth your prize?"

"Oh my, this portrait must have been painted quite some time ago," Hermione mused. "I'd heard that sometimes memories acquired between portrait date and death date are lost when the portrait activates, but I've never seen it happen."

"Answer me, I demand it!" Draco finally looked up at his father, ignoring the mans gasp.

"I killed you, father, and long past time, too." The casual announcement seemed to catch the portrait off guard, then he smiled.

"Ah, so it's that way then. I can see by your face that quite a number of years has passed. Did you grow weary of waiting for me to pass the reins of the family holdings along to you and take matters into your own hands? Bravo! You have become a true Malfoy!"

"While true in part, there are a few vital missing facts, father. The first of which is, you lost the war. Potter killed that maniacal Dark Lord of yours, and good riddance. It's all been over for a decade now. And yes, I did need to inherit. More than that I simply needed you dead before you tried to kill me again. Oddly, you were rather upset at the announcement that I intended to make a Mugglborn the next Lady Malfoy. It all went pear shaped on you father, really." He explained in summary, watching Lucius face change colors in varying stages of fury.

"So, finally I claimed the right of Custos Morem and killed you this afternoon." He led Hermione to the door then paused again. "And father, I killed you with a Muggle weapon. You never saw it coming." They shut the door on the impotent howls of rage.


	35. Chapter 36 For the Love of a Girl

"Dammit Potter, there is nothing I can do!" A few startled pairs of eyes flicked upwards at the shout coming out of the Minister for Magics private office before a silencing charm was hastily erected from inside. The whispers started almost immediately but in only a few minutes the entire waiting area was cleared. No one wanted to be the next appointment in that office now.

Harry was pacing back and forth in front of Kingsley's desk, his hair out at all angles, magic seeming to crackle from the ends in his temper.

"He committed murder! How can you let that go for political expediency?"

"It's not expediency, Harry, what he did was within the law. I'd love to find some way to arrest the bastard, I really would, but these charges wouldn't stick for five minutes. He invoked old blood charter law that is still perfectly valid and on the books. Granted it's a rarely used law, but it is still law. And frankly, even if it weren't what would you have me do? Lucius Malfoy was supposed to have been Kissed ten years ago. We held the execution publicly, there is no going back from that. It would ruin all of us if it got out that we faked the death of one of Voldemort's staunchest supporters in exchange for him continuing to serve the Ministry. It would ruin you, too, Potter, so don't give me that look. You're on the edge as it is. You've killed so damn many people that citizens are afraid to walk near you in Diagon Alley. Do you have any idea how hard it was to cover for you when you used the cruciatus on a child to make her parents talk? I had to make certain they both died in Azkaban before they could go to trial under Veritaserum. And for what? Smuggling some foolish illegal aphrodisiac potions? It was not even a violent crime. Two people dead, and a child who's memory we had to modify so heavily that we basically turned her into a Squib. Now you want me to authorize you arresting Draco Malfoy for the murder of his father, a murder that was legal? And if I did find some reason to arrest him I wouldn't dare send you to do it anyway, you would kill him before you even read him his rights. You were supposed to take a month off, decompress a bit, get your mind and your magic back under control but I have seen precious little of that going on. It took you six hours to report that you found the body! Six hours you were in that house with a corpse and you didn't see fit to report it? What is going on with you, Potter?"

"This is not about me! This is about Draco fucking Malfoy getting away with murder! I don't care what old obsolete law he used, he's a murder, a criminal, and I want him dead! We should have had him executed with all the others." He paced faster, red sparks crackling where his feet met the rug, leaving tiny scorch marks. "Should have killed him years ago, the whole family, they're all dark, all mad. They're a danger to society, yes, that's what they are, a danger to order, to peace. How can we have peace in a world where murder is legal? It doesn't make sense, Kings, does it? How can murder be legal?" Kingsley sighed.

"Sit down, Harry, please, you're ruining the rug. You know blood law is different, almost medieval in some ways, but that's how the purebloods like it. In the blood laws it states that if the head of a family brings shame on the family name, or behaves in a way that is considered dishonorable or malicious, the prospective heir, once he has reached the age of seventeen, can invoke the statute of Custos Morem, it roughly means "keeper of morality". The heir is required to file, or have a designated second file a statement of intent at the Ministry declaring that the current head is considered unfit to continue to lead the family, and the heir intends to inherit by force. The Ministry must endorse the statement with the official seal, and only then can the heir act. It fell into disuse because inheriting by force is a tricky business, especially when someone knows you're coming. Malfoy was smart. He had a second file the paperwork for him, and less than ten minutes after the seal was applied and the document filed and declared legal he committed the deed. He used a Muggle weapon, a gun; I'm guessing Lucius never even realized what it was."

"That's outrageous. Draco Malfoy claiming that Lucius Malfoy brought shame on the house and needed to be removed? He's as bad as his father ever was." Kingsley frowned at this.

"Is he, though? Look at the evidence, Potter. He lived amongst Muggles for ten years in peace. He donates heavily to reconstruction charities and orphanages, his businesses employ hundreds that would have no place to work otherwise. He has publicly condemned blood purity supporters, and is engaged to a muggleborn, even if it is Hermione Granger. If this went public, he would have the publics support. Lucius was a madman through and through, a psychotic killer and a blood purist. Merlin, Harry, he killed children in cold blood simply because they were muggles. He planted Tom Riddle's diary on your ex wife when she was a child hoping she would reopen the Chamber of Secrets and that Voldemort would kill her to effect his resurrection. How can you really claim Draco is worse than that? Do I trust him, no. I suspect he has political aspirations that we cannot allow to bear fruit. I suspect he intends a great many changes we cannot allow, but he is not his father. We need to find a way to discredit him, have the people turn on him so he and Granger flee back to the Muggle world and let us keep the peace here."

"He's a Slytherin; his mothers milk was media manipulation. Look at them, parading the Dark Mark and the Dark Phoenix as if they were a point of pride. Making everyone believe they were always on the light side, when I know for a fact that they both did unspeakable things in Voldemorts name. They claimed they were on the light side to avoid prosecution at the end, that's what they did. Spies? What information did they give that we could not have got on our own? Both of them, and Snape, too? I never trusted either Snape or Draco and they got to Hermione, poisoned her mind, turned her into one of them. "

"She was supposed to be Ron's girl, not Snapes! We were best friends; her going off like that betrayed everything! Even if she and Ron didn't work out, she and I…" he snapped his mouth shut, even as Kingsley's eyebrows climbed high on his forehead. He had often wondered why the two boys had turned on her so viciously at the end of the war. Yes, what she'd done was repellent, but her loyalty had never really been in doubt. He and the rest of the Order had gone along with Potter because, after all, that was where the public went, and political success depended on Harry Potters endorsement. But to find out that the breakdown of the Golden Trio was all to do with the affections of a girl? It had never occurred. Potter was with the Weasley girl; it was a foregone conclusion he would marry her, and admittedly it had been expected that Granger and the Weasley boy would make a couple as well, but no one had paid it much attention when the two broke it off. They had fought constantly; it was no surprise to anyone. But to find out that Potter wanted Granger? What did he think, that he could just throw over the Weasley girl and take Granger instead? Or marry one and have one on the side as a mistress? Not that such a thing was uncommon but neither woman was the type to accept being a mistress instead of a wife. Then he thought again. It had been war, yes, but when all was said and done, they had still been children, with childish assumptions, and childish desires. Well, Potter and Weasley had been, at least. He wasn't sure Granger had ever really been a child, she'd been freakishly mature even when they were first years, and that hadn't changed.

Dear Merlin, all this mess because of teenage crushes. And it was more than evident that Potter had held hard onto those imagined slights, his fracturing psyche assigning blame and hate that only compounded the more powerful and mad he became. He knew Weasley had bounced back quite well, married and had children. There had been a rough patch when Weasley's love of the bottle had eclipsed that of family and his wife and the children had moved to a seaside retreat close to Shell Cottage, but that had been mending of late with Weasleys new career as second string keeper for one of the semi-pro Quidditch teams. He was old for a professional Quidditch player, but he was good, and getting better, and rumor had it that in another couple seasons, if his play proved out he would end up on a national team as one of the oldest keepers in recent history.

He was also Draco Malfoy's second on the notice of intent for the Custos Morem, and Kingsley knew deep down if Potter found that out that what little was left of his sanity would likely crack. Thankfully the Auror was too new to blood law, and too focused on his hate to think about who the second was, an oversight that he had no intention of pointing out. He had to redirect Potter somehow, give him something else to obsess about, to despise.

"Look, why don't you take the cursed artifact case from Tompkins? He managed to get Dragon Pox from his own children, missed it as a kid himself, so he's out of commission for the next couple weeks at least. So far we've avoided casualties but one Muggle got hold of a cursed teapot and nearly scalded a table full of elderly ladies. We think it's more a vicious prank than a wish to really hurt or kill but it needs taking care of. No unforgivables, and no killing, Potter, do I make myself clear?"

Harry simply muttered something under his breath and grabbed the file off Kingsleys desk, refusing to meet his eyes and stomping out of the office, the door slamming so hard it nearly cracked the frame.


	36. Chapter 37 The Long Con

"I have a lunch today with Amos Diggory, it's amazing progress, I think he's coming around to the idea of running for Minister. He isn't exactly keen on my funding his campaign, but I told him he has to start somewhere and my money spends as well as anyone else's and I'm not going to go about putting stipulations on his platform. He's a good man; I won't need to control him, he sees reason and he knows what we're doing simply doesn't work. The Wizengamot on the other hand, there's our problem." Hermione put her coffee cup and the Daily Prophet aside and quirked an eyebrow at Draco.

"Quite. I honestly don't see how we're going to get the Draconian sets of laws in the Wizarding world reformed with a stagnant bunch of hundred fifty year old purebloods as the only real lawmaking power. Imagine, inherited positions in this day and age, especially for something as important as the laws to govern an entire society. But honestly, love, I don't see an easy way out of it."

"Is anything ever easy?" She got up and strolled over, straddling his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Some things are, but they usually aren' t the important things. It's amazing what we have already accomplished; don't you think? We knew this would be a long game we were playing, and we're barely a year into it. I have several appoinments today with influential ladies in society. Ostensibly it's for more charitable work for the war orphans and the rebuilding of Hogsmeade, and the surrounding villages. I think that might be the best time to start laying the groundwork for the Wizengamot to stick it's hand in. After all, the government has been conspicuous by its absence in any charitable work, mentioning that in the right ears should start to plant the seed of involvement. Once they do decide to participate you can make sure they do it in a way that completely alienates the general public. Lots of permits, oversight committees that prevent things from getting done, officials to be bribed, people pushing agendas to improve wealthy areas that don't need the help, Wizengamot regulating the spending and where the galleons go, that sort of thing. It will enrage people when all the progress comes screeching to a halt. It will also give Amos a natural platform to run on." Draco nodded slowly, a satisfied smirk starting to form as he ran his hands up her sides under her blouse.

"Merlin woman you are so sexy when you're plotting." He wandlessly vanished their clothes, making her gasp in surprise, and bit down not so gently on her neck. "So, continue on, tell me how you're going to segue this into overthrowing the Wizengamot."

"Mmm, well, people get belligerent when you mess with their galleons, and when they see children suffering all that old patriotic zeal should come to the fore. The right press coverage of the Wizengamots incompetenece and malevolence, coupled with some truly bad advice in the wrong ears by proxies we choose, well, soon there would be all out riots in the street. And the only way to really quell all that? Martial law." He chuckled, hands starting to wander, making her wriggle against him.

"Riots love? And I'm the ruthless one? It makes sense, though. Really it's either that or we kill them all and put the entire system in jeopardy while the new generation jockeys for power. And honestly, since it's just a new generation of everything the same, I don't see anything changing. We have to put the power back in the hands of the people and make them see that they damned well need to take responsibility for their own futures. No more prophecies and heroes and the like, just the logical functioning of a society involved in the governmental process." He missed the twitching of her lips for a moment, then glared, nipping sharply at her lip.

"What? It's your damned fault anyway. I would still be happily puttering in my shop if you hadn't showed back up and made me see what a bloody mess there was to clean up." He snogged her hard, loving how she writhed in his lap when he did that, trying to get closer to him. Then pulled away completely, denying her. She kicked at his ankle, her frustration obvious, then smirked.

"Ah, well that explains it all, of course. You were still a spoiled, selfish, obnoxious prat until I showed up and made you a decent man?" He looked almost ready to agree then realized the verbal trap she had set for him.

"Bloody hell, woman. Besides, look how much power I will be able to wield if this all comes about. I'll be unstoppable."

"I think it's possible that you nearly already are." He quirked an eyebrow in wry acknowledgement and tipped his head back to look into her honey brown eyes.

"Perhaps. And I think perhaps that power is quite the aphrodisiac to you, isn't it? No, don't bother denying it, I know you quite well by now, and I know power arouses you, at least it does if it's used properly. And that is one thing I learned from leading strings, the proper and effective use of power to get what I want. And right now…" there was a sharp tug behind her navel and suddenly they were back in the master suite. "Right now I want you."

"I'll be late for my appointments." He shook his head slowly.

"You still have yet to learn love, with who we are together you are never late, you arrive exactly when you wish and anyone who was there before you was simply early."

"That's rude."

"That's just too damn bad." He smiled and made her very, very late.


	37. Chapter 38 Rights and Reason

"You need to come immediately, Zabini and Longbottom were just arrested." Draco's head shot up as the tabby cat Patronus jumped onto his desk and gave it's message in Minerva McGonagall's clipped Scots brogue. He didn't question how Minerva had learned the information before his own network of information gatherers managed it; that old woman was a wily one and had learned at Dumbledore's knee for decades. What was of more concern was how she knew he would be concerned and what exactly the circumstances of the arrest were. He arrived with a pop outside the Hogwarts gates in less than three minutes, his traveling cloak swirling around him in a manner that was eerily reminiscent of his godfather.

The gates swung open as he approached and instead of taking the time to walk across the rambling grounds he stretched out his hand and a broom expanded back to normal size as he reversed the shrinking charm on it. He was at the main doors in under a minute, and striding up to the gargoyle blocking the stairway to the headmistress office seconds later. The gargoyle also sprung back, revealing the staircase, and he was riding it upwards when he saw a wave of brown curls hurtling in through the front door.

Minerva barely waited for the two of them to enter the room before a tea service appeared and a house elf began to pour out. Minerva was rattled enough that she did not even make a pretense of refusing to add a tipple to her drink and poured in a healthy shot of the very fine whiskey Draco had begun to have delivered to her monthly. The small bottle trembled in her hand, and she cleared her throat, setting it back down with a thunk.

"Minerva, what's happened?" The question was sharper than he had intended, but seeing the normally unflappable witch so upset sent a sharp pike of dread through him. His instincts were screaming that he needed to take sudden, violent action, but he wasn't sure against whom or the reason.

The older witch took a deep breath and shook her head.

"They were here for tea; it was a regular visit just to catch up. Tea had only just been served when a squad of Aurors came in and Stunned them, cast Incarcerous and began to levitate them away. I demanded to know what charges were being brought against them, and by whose authority. They said it was abetting sedition and harboring traitors to wizarding Britain. When I protested the lunacy of those charges they threatened to take me in for 'harboring' wanted criminals. It's like living through the Blitz, police in the streets being allowed to do as they like. You must get them out of there; I'm worried that if they are left there something terrible will happen to them."

"Sweet Nimue's knickers." Draco scowled and pinched the bridge of his nose, blowing out a long breath. What the hell had Kingsley been thinking, trying to make a sedition case against Blaise and Longbottom, of all people? He had to know he would need something absolutely ironclad to pin to them, which meant one of two things. Either Blaise had been sloppy and holding things back from him, or they'd made something up to pin on them. Thankfully Britain did not have the same laws about treason that the States did these days, the government was still required to enumerate the charges, allow a solicitor to represent the accused and procede with the question of bail. That was good.

"Draco?" Hermione's voice was quiet, but it brought him out of his reverie.

"Minerva, how long ago was this?" The older witch glanced at the clock on the mantle above the fireplace.

"Less than fifteen minutes." He nodded sharply.

"I require the use of your Floo, if you please?" She nodded, and he grabbed a pinch of powder.

"Anthony Goldstein, exchequer." He spoke the address of Goldstein's private Floo, the one only he and possibly five other high priority clients knew that would open onto the solicitors private office regardless of who else was there. As luck would have it Goldstein was alone in the office when he stuck his head through the flames.

"Malfoy? What is it?" There were no pleasantries, the solicitor knew that anyone contacting him via that Floo address had no time for niceties.

"I need you at the Ministry, Magical Law Enforcement ten minutes ago. Blaise and Longbottom have been arrested, they're calling it treason."

"Treason? Is it valid?"

"No." Goldstein nodded.

"I'm on it."

"Tony… Longbottom cannot go to Azkaban, under any circumstances. He's fragile." The attorney's mouth tightened but he nodded.

"I'll do what I can. You're meeting me?"

"I'm at Hogwarts, Hermione and I will Floo in and meet you." Goldstein nodded and cut the connection. As he drew his head out of the flame and reached for another fistful of powder he saw Hermione take something small and golden from McGonagalls hand with a nod. Smirking, he nodded toward her hand.

"Give Minerva back the Time Turner, love, you don't need it." Hermione flushed to the roots of her hair and Minerva raised an eyebrow.

"Mister Malfoy, if there is anything I can…" Draco held up a hand, his expression gentling.

"Minerva, what you heard, when I told Goldstein ten minutes ago, that's precisely what I meant." He let the words sit out there until both witches caught on. Minerva looked beyond shock, but Hermione simply grinned.

"No wonder. Oh love, that's cheating, how marvelous!" He nodded to her and gripped the Headmistress hand firmly.

"I will not let anything happen to them, either of them," he said, looking straight into her eyes. She looked surprised for a moment, then relaxed with a small, rather quizzical smile.

"My dear boy, you are rather more like your godfather than you know. Only he and Albus had the talent to convince me that they could actually pull off the fool stunts and impossible missions they took on. Go on, both of you, and send word when you can." Hermione embraced the old woman fiercely before following Draco into the Floo.


	38. Chapter 39 Confrontation

Anthony Goldstein barreled out of the visitors entrance to the Ministry of Magic shaking water from his highly polished loafers with a moue of disgust. He had used the public entrance from London to avoid being in two inconveniently close places at once, a necessary evil when taking liberties with time itself, but all necessity aside he still despised flushing himself down a loo to enter a building.

He noted with satisfaction that Draco's estimate of the time had been astonishingly accurate, and Longbottom and Zabini were nearly to the entrance to the lifts that now only travelled to the Ministry holding cells. Even Kingsley wasn't fool enough to try taking them direct to Azkaban. He couldn't see who the Aurors escorting the two were, though he rather thought it was likely to be Dawlish and probably some green recruit who was thoroughly brainwashed just the way they liked them nowadays. Instead of trying to catch their attention he pointed his wand at his throat and murmured a low _Sonorous_.

"Mr Zabini, Mr. Longbottom!" The volume made half the hall flinch and cast him vile looks before they internalized who he had been shouting for, then heads began to turn. He saw one of the Aurors, the younger one, mouth something that looked like profanity under his breath, but Dawlish simply kept his head down and was pulling for all he could on Blaise, who used his not-inconsiderable size to become a mostly immovable object when he caught sight of Anthony. The crowd parted easily for him as he dashed toward the foursome, people already beginning to murmur and speculate about why a former war hero and a barely neutral were being arrested together. He puffed up to them and pulled to a halt, casting a smile at both men.

"I'm glad I arrived in time, Auror Dawlish, what is the meaning of this?" Dawlish scowled, but failed to notice that Anthony had kept a milder form of the _Sonorous_ over himself and had surreptitiously cast it across the rest of the group as well. Come what may there were going to be plenty of witnesses to this conversation.

"Get out of the way, you little pantywaist Kike," Dawlish spat. "This is Ministry business, none of your nevermind." The other Auror had the grace to wince and look askance at Dawlish choice of words, but saw no way to avoid casting his support with his superior.

"Out of the path, Goldstein, this lot are headed for Azkaban soon enough."

"Not before a hearing they certainly are not," he said coolly. "And as their solicitor I bloody well will be told what they are charged with."

"You can't be their solicitor, we just Floo'ed in from Hogwarts, you couldn't have even known they were coming here. "

"I'm on retainer by a sympathetic party, and I have sources everywhere. Now give over, what's the charges?"

"Treason, collusion and various other crimes against the Ministry. Those there are Kissing offences, they're not going out of bail, they'd disappear themselves in two minutes."

"That's not for you to decide, Auror Dawlish, that's for the Wizengamot to say," Goldstein snapped. "And I'm damned if I believe you have one shred of evidence to hold up such ludicrous claims. I demand my client's bail hearing be held immediately, and be heard by no less than a half session of the Wizengamot."

"You can demand in one hand and shit in the other and see what fills up first," Dawlish snapped, then suddenly the buzz of a _muffliato _descended on the small crowd.

"Dawlish, what the hell were you thinking, you dolt, you can't say tripe like that aloud!" Anthony turned and his eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline in surprise.

"Auror Potter, I heard you were taking a sabbatical for your health." He fought the urge to step back at the visage the man projected. He'd not been any closer than half a block to Potter since they graduated Hogwarts, but the changes in the other man were more than unnerving. It wasn't the grey streaking his temples prematurely, or even the weird prickling of swirling magic that seemed barely contained under the former hero's skin, there was something that just looked _off_ about Harry Potter, something that seemed hot and cold a slithery and wild just under the surface, and it made you feel if you looked to long into the red flecked green eyes that you might just start screaming and never stop. Anthony knew that look, he'd seen it a lot during the war, it was the look of a man who had gone absolutely mad, and was convinced he was sane.

"I think if you'll read the applicable statutes, Auror Potter, everything I have demanded on behalf of my clients are rights granted to them by both Queen and country and by magical decree of the Wizengamot and the International Confederacy. " Potter didn't even glance at the sheaf of papers that had just appeared in his case by virtue of the same spellwork that made the Vanishing Cabinets function at one time. Merlin but efficient secretaries were lovely things.

"I'll just bet they are, Goldstein, you always were a bookish little prig, every "I" dotted and "t" crossed too I'm sure." He leaned closer and narrowed his eyes.

"I'm going to tell you once, you don't want this case. Reputation is everything in your business and I'm sure you don't want a shingle hanging out there that reminds people that you represent traitors and Death Eater sympathizers."

"Death Eater sympathizers? You are joking, right? That's absurd! Longbottom is a bloody hero! He stood up to Voldemort in front of the whole school and the entire Order of the Phoenix and basically told him to get stuffed."

"Time's change, and so do associations. You've been keeping some bad company, boys, dangerous company. That was a mistake." Blaise cast a hate filled glance his way and shook his head.

"The only mistake we ever made was trusting in you, Potter. You're little better than Voldemort himself these days, using intimidation and lies to get people you don't agree with out of your way."

"Why you…"

"Ah, ah, ah, temper temper. Merlins pants, Potter, it seems no matter how much time goes by you still have that filthy temper to contend with. I recommend therapy, it helps so many."

"Malfoy." The word was spat with such dripping hatred that Anthony flinched before he could catch himself.

"Anthony, kindly take Blaise and Longbottom here back home; it seems that our estimable Auror's have forgotten to avail themselves of things such as warrants, the reading of rights and all the other trappings of civilization. According to all records they have simply been asked to appear of their own will to answer some questions. I think an exercise in that will to leave is in order."

"You cannot…" started Dawlish, but suddenly his mouth was moving but no sound accompanied it.

"Anthony, now, go." Hermione's voice was tense enough that the solicitor nodded and grabbed each of the men by the arm, quick marching them into the Floo. Dawlish watched them go, rage filling his expression, hands tight on his wand, but unmoving.

"We'll have them back in a day, you know that. And this time there won't be any of the little technicalities you so love to hide behind," Harry spat, red sparks dripping from his wand, scorching the stone floor beside him. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Little technicalities? What, like basic rights? Like the law? What in Merlins name are you thinking?"

"Shut up!" she flinched back at the shout, and the atrium began to slowly empty. "You have no right to even speak to me! You whore yourself to Snape, and to Malfoy, you break my best friends heart, you betray us, and you think you can even look me in the face? You should have been executed right next to Lucius and Dolohov, you traitorous bitch!"

"You will _not_ speak to my fiancé that way, Potter. She is the bravest witch I know, and is easily worth a hundred of your sort." Draco leaned forward and looked directly into the shorter mans eyes. "Your time is running out, Potter, yours and Shackelbolt's and the rest of the so called Order who decided to step in after Voldemort left the void of power. You landed on Wizarding Britain like vultures on carrion, and you've been feasting on it to your own good for far too long."

"Don't you dare threaten me Malfoy. I could kill you where you stand for menacing an Auror."

"That's bollocks and you know it. And you know there are dozens of witnesses so you don't bloody dare. Besides, you know I'm not talking about physical retaliation. Oh no, the elections are coming up, Potter, and they'll be here sooner than you think. We will do this the right way, the normal way. We will vote you down in the Ministry, in the Wizengamot and in the ICW. We will remake this world in a reasonable image where no one needs to be afraid of the government. We will finally have the peace that you promised instead of the terror and intimidation that you delivered. And when we do, I guarantee you will be left in the cold, looking in." The last was hissed right in the shorter mans face before he pulled back with a snarl.

"Come on, love, we have work to do, and no more time to waste."


	39. Chapter 40 Contingencies

"I can't shake the feeling that that was a tactical error. We shouldn't have provoked him. He's not stable, old man, you had to see that."

"And if he cracks before the elections so much the better. It will reflect horribly on Shackelbolt and rid us of Potter all in one fell swoop. They're getting desperate, Blaise, that's why they tried that stunt today. They needed leverage against us, and getting you into the Ministry where they could do what they liked was a ploy to imtimidate and control us." Draco looked thoughtfully into a snifter of brandy, swirling it as he thought. "If they're willing to go this far they're more sure of their own defeat than we are. That's a good sign."

"I can't put Neville through that, Draco. He means too much to me. We've barely been able to Floo to Hogwarts, now it doesn't even feel safe."

"Blaise, I'm all right, truly." Neville squeezed his lovers shoulder comfortingly. "It's strange, but ever since we started this it's been getting easier. It's like doing something is helping me through it."

"Merlin save me from Griffyndor bravery," Blaise groaned. "Nev, please don't go all 'let's save the world' on me now, I don't think my heart can take the strain."

"But mine can and I can do it for both of us. I was scared today, Blaise, I won't say I wasn't, but it wasn't because it was outside and then open spaces and crowds, and everything else that it's been, it's because I might have been separated from you. Next to that, everything else is just window dressing."

"You should take a holiday. Leave the club with the day manager; go to France. We have a villa there under the Fidelius. It's lovely and you'd be safe. You can stay as long as you need."

"I don't want to take the cowards way out and run when I could be helping," Neville was adamant. Hermione took up the argument with a shake of her head.

"Neville, please. Now that they know they can make us respond they've painted a target on your backs, and they'll be planning how to best use you to get to us. This was sloppy and spur of the moment. The next try won't be. It's better all around if you go. We won't have to worry, you'll be safe, and we'll have taken yet another weapon away from them. No one is questioning your loyalty, you've been an invaluable help already, but the elections are close and we'd like to make it without more bloodshed. Hasn't there been enough war?" HE looked like he was about to argue again when Blaise put a pleading hand on his arm, and the look on his lovers face made him visibly deflate.

"All right, we'll go," he said quietly. "We can leave straight from here; we've been carrying emergency packs for a month now just in case something happened and we had to get out fast. We don't want to cause more hurt than help, 'Mione, but it's damned frustrating fighting a war with words and opinions insteads of wands."

"I know, but it's the right thing to do," she said softly. "We'll keep you updated, just be by your Floo every now and again." Draco leaned over and whispered the location of the villa to each of them and they were gone through the Floo in less than five minutes.

"You don't believe for one moment that it's going to just settle after the election." Draco looked up and shook his head.

"There isn't going to be an election, love, there never was, at least not this way, Shackelbolt can't risk that and he knows it. He'll be trumping up a reason to declare martial law soon, within a few weeks at most, and then it will start. NO, all this has been is a dress rehersal to see who the people will want once the fighting calms down again, and who we can trust to make it work when it does. Now all we have to do is make sure they all survive till the end of it."

"It's too late for Harry." There was such sorrow in her voice that he kept the words that he wanted to say behind his teeth and simply a moment later when she put her hands in her face and cried for the childhood friendship that was gone forever, and the friend who had turned into the thing he was fighting so hard against, he had the sense to just hold her.


End file.
